Things Fall Apart
by Elf Eye
Summary: Glorfindel and Erestor escort Elladan'n'Elrohir and Estel on a visit to Legolas (aka Anomen).
1. Oink! Oink!

**_Dragonfly_, here is the beginning of the fic in which Glorfindel escorts the twins to Mirkwood.  It will be heavy on humor and action/adventure.**

            Elrond thought he heard a pig grunting and rooting about in the undergrowth, which would be very unusual, since the Elves didn't keep pigs.  Actually, the Imladris Elves kept no animals other than horses, the sole exceptions being Estel's dog and a few pet birds.  The Elves much preferred to dine upon venison and other wild game; and when they did feel a yen for domesticated meat, they traded for it, either with Bree-landers or Dunlendings.  Mayhap this pig—if pig it was—was a Dunland swine gone feral.  Elrond nocked his bow.  Wild pigs could be very dangerous.  They were squealing, ungainly-looking creatures; but they were fearless and with their tusks could easily disembowel either wolf or warrior.  Cautiously he moved forward.

            Oink!—crash!—Oink! Oink!—crack—Oink!  The beast was certainly blundering about, smashing through bushes, fetching up against trees.  Perhaps it was rabid.  That would be a fearsome prospect, a mad, feral pig roaming the woods near Rivendell.  Elrond crept forward with the greatest of care, bow string drawn taut.  Suddenly he froze, and both his eyebrows shot up.  No, that sound wasn't 'Oink'; it was—'Orc'.

Orc!—crash—Orc! Orc!—crack—Orc!—smash—Orc! Orc! Orc!

Was someone battling an Orc?  But he heard neither the clash of scimitar and sword nor the grunt of goblin.  Elrond eased aside a branch and peered into a clearing.  There was Glorfindel, alone.  He was swinging his sword with the greatest of ferocity, each blow decapitating either a bush or a sapling, all the while grunting, "Orc! Orc!"  Elrond cleared his throat and stepped into the clearing.  Glorfindel spun about and lunged toward him but abruptly checked his swing when he saw his old friend.  As for Elrond, he remained impassive, even though the sword halted mere inches from his head.  He had the utmost confidence in the balrog-slayer's ability.

"Glorfindel, my friend, there are enough Orcs to slay in this world without the need to behead imaginary ones.  Pray tell me why you are engaged in this curious exercise."  

            Glorfindel threw down his sword in disgust.

            "Elrond, every century it's the same story—slay a few thousand Orcs, repeat, slay a few thousand Orcs, repeat. Oh, it's true an occasional balrog or dragon gets tossed into the mix, but, really, not often enough to break the monotony."

            "Perhaps," said Elrond mildly, "the Valar will see fit to create something nastier.  If they do, you may have first shot at it."

            Glorfindel glared at him.

            "Elrond, if I have to correct the grip of one more elfling, I shall go over to the Dark Lord, I swear."

            "Ah, so that's it.  A frustrating day on the training fields?  Archery lessons not going well?"

"No, that's not it—well, not entirely.  Elrond, Legolas has been gone for six months.  Don't you think it has been entirely too quiet around here?"

"That depends on your definition of 'too quiet'.  _I_ don't think so.  In any event, Elladan and Elrohir are out on patrol.  They'll be back soon, and then things will be lively enough, I'm sure.  Besides, didn't you have to rescue Estel from a Troll just last week?"

"Yes, but," complained Glorfindel, "Estel gets into less and less trouble every day that passes.  They're precocious, these humans.  Legolas tormented me until he was well past his five hundredth birthday, but I think by the time Estel is twelve he will be steady, mature, and reliable."

Elrond raised an eyebrow.

"And this is a problem?  Really, Glorfindel, I thought that you detested chasing after Legolas and rescuing him every other month.  You said so often enough!"  

"You exaggerate," objected Glorfindel.  "It was really only every other year, on average—two hundred times, more or less."

"So," said Elrond, "the long and the short of it, is—you're bored."

"Yes, Elrond, I am bored."

"Well, I suppose I could loan you out to Hyge and his father.  They wish to clear a new field for the planting of cherry trees, and it looks to me as if you would make short work of the undergrowth."

"Elrond!"

"No?  Very well then.  Before they went out on patrol, Elladan and Elrohir begged that they soon be allowed to visit Legolas in Mirkwood.  They of course should not travel without an escort.  I had in mind Berenmaethor, but perhaps you would accept that charge instead."

"Gladly!"

"You might want to think the matter over for a day or two.  We are talking about Elladan and Elrohir, after all."

"Elrond, I will not mind."

"Um, Elladan _and _Elrohir.  Together.  The two of them.  All the way to Mirkwood and back."

"Wonderful!"

"You are sure?  Very well.  When Elladan and Elrohir return from patrol, I shall tell them to make ready."

"Excellent!"

Glorfindel picked up his sword and sheathed it.

"All this exercise has made me hungry.  Do you know, Elrond, I've a sudden craving for pork.  Didn't the Cook lately acquire a newly slaughtered pig from a party of Bree-landers?"

Elrond looked askance at him.

"Glorfindel, you haven't by chance been bitten by a fox recently?"

"No."

"A bat?"

"No."

"A raccoon then?  Or a skunk?"

"Whatever is the matter, Elrond?  Is there something wrong with having a bit of pork from time to time?"

"Oh, no," Elrond hastily assured him.  "And I think that you are right about the Cook having purchased a pig.  I shall ask him to prepare a dish from it for supper tonight."

"Thank you, Elrond."

Off they strode toward the Hall.  When they reached it, they parted, Glorfindel heading for the Armory, Elrond for his library.  Once the Lord of Imladris had reached that chamber, he began to rummage about frantically.

"Whatever are you looking for!?" complained Erestor, whose studies Elrond was disturbing.

"Erestor, isn't there a book hereabouts that lists signs that the end of the Third Age draws near?"

"Not in so many words, but scattered about in many books of lore are discussions of portents of various kinds, and some of those portents have to do with ages coming to a close, world cataclysms, that sort of thing.  Why?  Is the world ending?  I should like to know if it is."

This brought Elrond's search to an abrupt halt.  Whatever would one do if the world _was_ coming to an end?  After all, it wasn't the sort of thing that one would _pack_ for, was it?

"No, Erestor.  I was just curious, is all."

"Well," said Erestor casually, "if I come across any passages about the end of the Third Age, I shall tell you.  By the way, do you happen to know what the Cook is preparing for supper?"

"Pork, I believe," Elrond answered with a distracted air.

"Well," exclaimed Erestor, "_that's_ the last straw!"

"What!?  What!?" exclaimed Elrond.  "Is it over after all!?"

"Whatever is the matter with you?  I merely meant that it's one thing after another today, and now you tell me that of all the dishes I like least, the Cook has gone and cooked pork, which I detest the most.  Ugh!  Pig!  Nasty, rooting creatures."

Elrond looked at him with relief.

"_You_ certainly haven't changed, Erestor.  Yes, Erestor's in his study and all's right with the world.  I shall see you at supper, my friend."

With that, Elrond departed the room calmer than when he had entered it.  Erestor looked after him and shook his head.

"Too much time on his hands, that one," he muttered.  "Too much time on everyone's hands, really.  Too much time on _my_ hands.  Everything's been at sixes and sevens since Legolas rode off for Mirkwood."

Disconsolate, Erestor looked about the library.  Suddenly his eye fell upon a book that he had but recently completed copying.  It was destined for Thranduil, who had expressed an interest in it because it contained a lengthy chapter on his ancestors.

"That volume has got to be delivered to Mirkwood.  Ah, I have it!  That tome is so valuable that it can scarce be trusted to an ordinary messenger.  Nay, I must carry it myself.  Yes, that's it!  I have no choice but to go to the Great Hall.  And I might as well look up Legolas as long as I'm there.  Silly to go all that way and not see the lad.  Yes, I must tell Elrond that I am obligated to absent myself from Rivendell for a time."

With that, Erestor sprang up from his seat and hastened out of the library in pursuit of Elrond, who was soon to be more bewildered than ever.  After all, Erestor was a very respectable Elf who never had any adventures.  And Glorfindel never, _ever_ ate pork.


	2. Rear Guard

Thanks for the encouragement from the following reviewers: _Arwen Undomiel, Jebb, Kitsune, Melissa, Catmint, Athena Diagon Cat, Startlit Hope, Dragonfly, Karri_, and _Joee_.

            "Are you mad, Elrond!" exclaimed Glorfindel.  "Sending Erestor to Mirkwood!?  You know not what you do!"

            Elrond was perplexed.

            "Glorfindel, the two of you have traveled to Mirkwood before to conduct trade negotiations, and not so long ago, either.  Don't you remember?  It was the century when Legolas attached himself to your party under the guise of Durrandîr and very nearly was slain by spiders.  You raised no objections to Erestor's presence then.  Why do you do so now?"

"I raised no objections because it was the first time we had so traveled.  _Now_ I can object because I have the memory of that last trip to justify my complaints."

"You did not complain upon your return."

"No, and why should I?  There would have been no object in complaining.  But now I do have reason.  Elrond, Erestor is wise and his counsel is good—no one doubts that—but of all Elves he is the worst horseman I have seen in any Age.  Sometimes I think he must be half-human, so ill does he keep his seat."

"Ahem."  Elrond Half-elven cleared his throat.

"Your pardon," Glorfindel said swiftly.  "Yes, I know you are peredhil, and I meant no disrespect.    Still, for an Elf, Erestor seems exceptionally ill-talented when it comes to horsemanship.  As an equestrian, he makes Dwarves look good."

"Glorfindel," Elrond said calmly, "such hyperbole is unnecessary."

"But it is not hyperbole!"

"It is true that your great horse once threw him, Glorfindel, but then no one but you could ride that horse—even I would have been thrown if I had been so foolhardy as to mount him."

"Estel once rode him," Glorfindel pointed out, "and he merely a child, too.  And Legolas vaulted onto his back and maintained his seat."

"True, but I think your horse forbore to injure either because of their youth.  Erestor was not so lucky.  Still, he will do well enough upon an ordinary horse.  You have no need of haste and may proceed at a comfortable pace, so even if Erestor's equestrian skills are not to your liking, he will not delay the party."

Glorfindel shook his head.

"I am certain, Elrond, that you are going to rue the day that you permitted Erestor to ride off to Mirkwood in the company of Elladan and Elrohir.  No good will come of it, I am sure!"

"If no good comes of it," replied Elrond calmly, "it will be because Elladan and Elrohir are along, and not because of Erestor's presence."

Glorfindel gloomily shook his head and departed.  "Well," he thought to himself, "I wanted some excitement, and now I am going to get it."

Elladan and Elrohir were no happier when they heard that Erestor as well as Glorfindel would be accompanying them to Mirkwood.

"Ai!" lamented Elladan, "it is bad enough having Glorfindel along to glower at us if we do not hold our weapons just so; now we will have to put up with Erestor lecturing us upon etiquette!"

"It is important to remember the distinction between a King, a Steward, and a Lord," declaimed Elrohir in a passable imitation of their old tutor.  "Elladan, do you suppose Erestor will insist that we treat Legolas as if he were a prince rather than our very good friend?"

"In public?" said Elladan.  "I am sure of it.  Else he will claim that we are disgracing our House."

"Then we shall just have to contrive to meet in secret with our foster-brother," exclaimed Elrohir.  "I don't mean to spend all our time with him bowing and bobbing!  It may be another century before we see Legolas again."

Just then the two young Elves spied Estel peeking around the corner at them.

"Well done, Estel," declared Elladan.  "I did not hear you creeping up.  You were as quiet as any Elf."

Estel beamed at the compliment, but it did not distract him from his errand.

"Elladan, Elrohir, is it true that you are journeying to Mirkwood to visit Legolas?"

"Aye, brother, 'tis true," replied Elrohir.

"Take me with you!  I want to see him, too!"

Elladan shook his head.  "Nay, brother—"

"Wait!" exclaimed Elrohir.  "And why not?"

"Elrohir, it is a long journey, and Estel is still quite young."

"True, but—ahem—Erestor will be along to look after him."

"Nonsense," Elladan began to reply, but Elrohir again cleared his throat and looked meaningfully at him.  Elladan caught on.

"Oh, yes, of course, brother!  What an excellent idea!  Estel, we shall go at once to Ada and plead your case."

"Thank you, Elladan!" said Estel fervently.  "Thank you, Elrohir.  You are ever so kind!"

Elladan and Elrohir were as good as their word.  They hastened at once to Elrond's chamber.

"Enter," called their father, and the twins practically stumbled over each other in their eagerness to present their father with their idea.

"Ada," they both began at once.  They looked at each other.  "Ada," continued Elrohir, "Estel wishes to accompany us to Mirkwood, and we would like to have him."

Elrond looked suspiciously at the twins.  Lately they had not distinguished themselves as loving brothers, for they were spending much energy in coming up with ways of shaking little Estel so that, unencumbered, they could dally with the elf-maidens.  Why the sudden urge for his company?

"He is rather young, don't you think?"

"Ada," Elladan pointed out, "when Legolas was Estel's equivalent in elf-years, he traveled all alone from Mirkwood to Imladris.  Estel, on the other hand, will be surrounded by guardians, amongst them Glorfindel, Erestor, and ourselves."

"Besides," added Elrohir, "with Glorfindel and Erestor gone, whatever will Estel do with himself?  There will be no lessons in the morning in the library, no weapons training in the afternoon on the fields.  There will be no one to look after him—unless," Elrohir added slyly, "you dedicate yourself to that task."

In truth, Elrond had been thinking of this fact ever since he had granted Erestor permission to join the riding, and he paled at the thought of being totally responsible for the little human all the live-long day.  Still, it _was_ a very long way to Mirkwood….

"Ada," said Elladan urgently, seeing the doubt upon Elrond's face, "with Erestor gone, Estel will fall dreadfully far behind in his studies.  If Estel were to accompany us, Erestor would have an opportunity to tutor him as they ride along together."

"True," mused Elrond, "and that would also mean that Erestor might be too preoccupied to trouble Glorfindel overmuch."  The truth suddenly dawned upon him.  "Ah," he added dryly, "that would also mean that Erestor would be too busy to o'erlook _your_ behavior.  Is that not so?"

Both twins colored a little, but they nodded their heads.

"Well," said Elrond, "I suppose there is some sense it what you say.  Estel will be overjoyed, both because he will be going on a journey and because he will see Legolas at the end of it.  Erestor will be happy because he will have someone to oversee.  You two will be happy because Erestor will not try to manage _you_.  Similarly, Glorfindel will be delighted because Erestor will have something to do with himself and will not be continually telling him how best to lead the company."  Elrond suspected that it was this habit, and not Erestor's poor riding ability, that had made Glorfindel object to his inclusion in the company.  "And I," Elrond went on, "will have real peace for the first time in, oh, about an Age.  Yes, this idea of yours pleases me greatly!  Pray tell, when are you leaving?"

"Ada!" laughed the twins, "won't you miss us in the slightest!?"

"Of course I will," replied Elrond, bestowing a kiss first on the forehead of one son and then on the other.  "But you have become so persuasive," he teased, "that I am all for seeing you launched upon this quest at the earliest opportunity.  Now be off with you.  Ask Glorfindel to join me in my chamber, if you please."

The twins bowed to their father and hurried off to do as they were bidden.  Soon Glorfindel arrived at Elrond's sanctum, wondering what it was that could have made Elladan and Elrohir gloat so as they told him that their father wished to speak with him.

"There is news, Elrond?"

"A change in plans, Glorfindel.  Estel will be joining you."

"What!?"

"Nay, Glorfindel, do not look so.   It is for the best.  Erestor must have somewhat to do, else he will occupy himself with a running commentary upon each and every one of your decisions—is that not so?"

"Aye," growled Glorfindel.  "'Tis the truth."

"How better to distract him than to assign Estel to his care?"

Glorfindel's face lit up.

"Of course!  Estel is the proverbial handful.  Erestor will scarce have time to wipe his own arse, so busy will he be saving Estel's!"

"Glorfindel!"

"'Tis only a saying."

"Aye, but a Dwarvish one.  I prefer a higher level of discourse in my chamber."

"Oooh, a 'higher' level of discourse!  That's good, Elrond, very good."

"Glor-fin-del," growled Elrond.

Glorfindel smirked.  "Your pardon, Elrond, but I should return to making preparations.  I shall tell the cook that we will need provisions for one other, and I will look o'er the herd to see which pony would be best suited to carry Estel on this journey."

With that, a very satisfied balrog-slayer strode rapidly from the room, leaving behind an elf-lord who wondered how it was that everyone in Rivendell seemed to be engaging in the most unaccustomed speech and behavior.  Once again, and not for the last time, he thought to himself that surely the Age must be drawing to a close.


	3. Passage To Lothlorien

_Silver badger: _Thank you.  Hope you enjoy the update.

_Jebb__: _Yes, and those disasters and catastrophes are going to begin—now.

_Kitsune__: _Actually, in that case we are probably past the expiration date!

_Justin: _I'm glad you've enjoyed the story so far.  Hope you like this latest installment.

_Farflung__: _I think the 'ruing' is about to begin.  As far as the pork—well, it rhymes with Orc and allows me to have fun with the Oink! Oink! opening.  As far as Glorfindel (also Erestor) not eating it, it's an aesthetic thing.  Rooting pigs offend their sensibilities.  Swine are, well, orcish.

_Joee__: _Yes, it turns out that even Glorfindel has his funny side.

_Grumpy:  _Yes, "lots of excitement" is pretty much inevitable.

_Athena Diagon Cat: _Oh, I wouldn't feel _too_ sorry for Erestor.  He does bring a lot of it down on himself.

_Dragongfly__: _Yes, I wouldn't feel _too_ bad for Glorfindel.

            In another fortnight Elladan, Elrohir, and the others would be departing for Mirkwood; and Elrond, Glorfindel, and Erestor were meeting in Elrond's chamber to determine the best route, given the season and the latest reports of the scouts.  Erestor had of course come equipped with several maps.

            "As it is full summer, we can take any one of the passes through the mountains.  We need not attempt Caradhras," observed Glorfindel, "and of course we can always travel as far south as the Gap of Rohan, although that would be taking us out of our way."

            "True," said Elrond, "if you go through the Gap, you will add several leagues to your journey, but that route has the advantage of taking you near Isengard.  It would be good if Elladan and Elrohir stopped to pay their respects to Saruman, and they could also deliver a letter on my behalf, plus one that Mithrandir entrusted to me when last he visited."

            "No!" Erestor blurted out unexpectedly.  "We should not go that way!  I do not trust Saruman!"

            Elrond and Glorfindel stared at him in astonishment.  First of all, Erestor never 'blurted'.  Second, whence came this sudden dislike for the White Wizard, head of his order?

            "Erestor," said Elrond, "Saruman has ever been a friend to the Elves, and he has oft done us valuable service.  Have you forgotten his careful nursing of Legolas, who might have died else?"

            "Nay, I have not forgotten," replied Erestor.  "And have you forgotten that Legolas was convinced that Saruman administered to him a potion that kept him in a stupor?"

            "Erestor," Elrond said patiently, "I myself am a healer, and I know full well that medicines may be accompanied by unwanted side-effects.  Indeed, the most powerful and beneficial nostrums, because of their very strength, are most apt to bring on painful symptoms.  Be glad that Legolas suffered from no more than sleepiness!  I have seen Men and Elves sweat and vomit and writhe as a result of my potions."

            Erestor argued on.  "There is also," he pointed out, "the matter of the Orcs and half-goblins and wargs who always materialize in the wake of that wizard.  I myself was attacked by two half-goblins shortly after exchanging speech with the Lord of Isengard."

            Elrond shook his head and smiled slightly.

"Erestor, you surprise me with this reasoning, more worthy of an elfling than of you.  Surely it is to be expected that a foe of evil creatures will be found in the vicinity of such beasts.  How else is he to counter them if he does not seek them out?  You could make the same charge against Mithrandir, could you not?  Is he not often found in the vicinity of Orcs and other foul creatures because they are our enemies, and he would learn of their movements so that they may be destroyed?"

Erestor could not deny that this was true, and he subsided into silence.  Glorfindel, however, proved to be an unexpected ally.

"Elrond is of course correct that Saruman is worthy wizard.  However, I must agree with Erestor: we should take one of the mountain routes, the nearest one to Lothlórien, I think, for we will surely want to visit that land."

"But why not visit Lothlórien _and_ Isengard?" asked Elrond.

"Lothlórien represents less of a delay.  Do not forget, Elrond, that Estel travels with us.  It is true that the reports of the scouts are favorable, but even so danger may lurk.  Estel should be exposed to danger no longer than necessary.  We should journey directly to Lothlórien and from thence to Mirkwood."

Elrond nodded thoughtfully.

"True, he will be on a pony and would be able neither to defend himself nor ride to safety if your party were assailed.  The less time you are on the road, the better.  Very well, make your way by the most direct path to Lórien."

Erestor shot a grateful glance toward Glorfindel.  However, mayhap he would have been less grateful if had realized that the balrog-slayer had another, unstated motive for desiring to travel by the quickest route.  The faster they arrived at Mirkwood, the sooner Glorfindel would be shut of Erestor!  Oh, it was true that Estel would keep Erestor occupied for much of the time, but Glorfindel had known Erestor for too many centuries to hope that the little human could keep the tutor entirely busy.  And when Erestor turned his attention to other matters, one of them was sure to be Glorfindel's management of the expedition.  Ai!

Although Erestor was oblivious to Glorfindel's true motives, Elrond was not.  The elf-lord hid his amusement, however.  Let Erestor believe that Glorfindel had buttressed his cause, and let Glorfindel believe that Elrond was in the dark as to his reasons for favoring the direct route.  It mattered not one whit, so long as peace was maintained.  A little judicious dissembling was not always a bad thing.

When Elladan, Elrohir, and Estel were informed that the party would not stop at Isengard, they were delighted.  Elladan and Elrohir had no interest in that place, which had always struck them as dreary—awe-inspiring, yes, but depressing, too, with its razor-sharp, unnaturally smooth walls.  As for Estel, he knew little of Saruman, having met him only once, but he remembered that he had preferred Radagast to the thin-lipped, sharp-featured wizard.  Moreover, child though he was, Estel had divined that to Saruman he was a paltry being unworthy of his attention.  The boy had resented the slight in his own childish way, and he was glad that he would not have to visit the wizard who had disdained him.  Of course, Estel did not realize that it is sometimes a very good thing to be overlooked by the Istar of Isengard!

It was a happy company, then, that a fortnight later assembled outside the Hall to bid farewell to Elrond and the other Elves who would be remaining behind.  Berenmaethor and Thoron were amongst the latter, but Baramagor and Celaithand were delighted to find themselves numbered amongst the riders.  The two were once again quite good friends, Celaithand having forgiven Baramagor for dallying with his sister Celaimîr on that memorable night when Estel and Gwaurant had run away.

As Elrond stood, dignified, and called down the blessings of the Valar upon the company, he felt a little wistful.  He, too, missed Legolas.  Moreover, since the Elves were stopping in Lothlórien, they would have the opportunity to see Arwen.  In this he was mistaken, however, for his daughter was visiting in the north of that land and would not be at Caras Galadon during the few days that her friends and kinsmen would sojourn there.  Perhaps it was better so, as the elven maiden likely would not have known what to make of Estel, who was still a 'diamond in the rough'.  He was long past being a cute toddler, and he had not yet developed any of the attributes that would have made him tolerable—let alone appealing—to the graceful elleth.

After the company had ridden out of the gates of Rivendell, Elrond stood for a while silently.  Then he sighed and reentered the Hall.  He had gotten his wish, he supposed—it was blessedly quiet—but already he longed for the return of his friends and kinsmen.

The next several days continued quiet, and Elrond worked his way through several missives.  Then, most unexpectedly, Gandalf returned,  even though he had set out only a month earlier and had told Elrond it might be a year before he dwelt again in Rivendell.  Yet here stood a messenger from the Door Warden, breathlessly announcing that the Grey Pilgrim had arrived—"and barefoot, my Lord!"

"Barefoot?"

"Aye, my Lord, barefoot and soaked and his clothes in tatters—and without his hat!"

Elrond raised both eyebrows.  It was hard to conceive of Mithrandir without his hat.

"I trust that the Lord Mithrandir is being provided with all that is needful."

"Aye, my Lord.  He has gone to his old chamber, and a bath is being prepared for him whilst the Master of the Wardrobe rummages about to find suitable garments for him to wear."

"Good.  See that the Cook prepares him something warm to eat and drink.  The Mannish beverage he likes—tea—that would be good, I think.  With honey in it.  And tell the Lord Mithrandir that I would be happy if he would share a glass of wine with me in my chamber after he has dressed and supped."

The messenger bowed and hastened away.  Several hours later Elrond heard a knock on his door.

"Enter."

A subdued wizard slouched into the room, shoulders bent.

"You are the picture of weariness, my friend," observed Elrond.

"_You_ try fleeing from Orcs for a week," retorted Gandalf.  "I doubt you'd look any more rested."

"Fetching shade of mauve," teased Elrond.  "Isn't that one of Erestor's old robes?  And those buskins look positively elegant—although you have tied them in a rather odd fashion."

"They are too large for me.  I had to knot the laces in that peculiar manner to keep them from slipping off my feet.  But really, Elrond, 'tis hard to be twitted in this fashion when I have barely escaped with my skin."

"With your skin, yes, but without your hat or your boots.   I trust you lost your pipe as well."

Gandalf scowled at him.

"I am happy to say that I managed to come away with my pipe."

"Pity," said Elrond, handing his friend a glass of wine.  "In any event, whatever happened to reduce you to this lamentable state of affairs?"

"As I said, I was being pursued by Orcs.  My hat fell off as I scrambled down a slope, and you may be sure that I did not trouble to go back and retrieve it.  As for my boots, one of them became trapped between two rocks, and I could only extricate myself by pulling my foot from the boot and abandoning it.  The other boot I discarded because it was easier to sprint without any boots at all than with one alone.  My clothes were shredded as I forced my way through a field of brambles, and the remnants of my garments were soaked when I swam across a river."

"My friend, there does not seem to be an obstacle that you have not confronted.  How did this happen when you intended merely to journey to Lothlórien and then cross back over the Misty Mountains in visit your belovéd Shire?"

"As I returned from Lórien, I was assailed by many Orcs at the western end of the pass.  I did not wish to squander my power—you know I shall have need of it!—so I chose to flee.  My enemies pursued me almost as far as the Northern Waste, and then I turned west, hoping that they would not follow me toward Bree-Land.  At last they left off the pursuit as I neared Weathertop.  Then I came here straightaway."

Elrond was staring at Gandalf in horror.  The wizard grew alarmed.

"Elrond, whatever is the matter!?"

Elrond answered in a near-whisper.

"They have gone that way."

"Who has gone that way?"

"Elladan, Elrohir, and Estel.  Glorfindel and Erestor, too.  They have an escort, but you say the Orcs were many.  When they left off pursuing you, no doubt they would have once again taken up position at the pass, for it must be their purpose to ambush travelers entering or leaving Lothlórien."

Gandalf stared back at Elrond, equally horrified.  The Elves and one little human were heading straight into a trap.


	4. Family Trees

_Jebb__: _Galadriel won't be the one to avert disaster in this episode.

_Farflung__: _Sooo, you think mauve suits Mithrandir?

_Karri: _Wait until you see Erestor swinging his sword in _this_ installment!

_Dragonfly: _Yes, Elrond will be eating his words.  I should probably do a chapter that explores the thoughts of a very chagrined Elrond.  Hmm.  What is the elvish for "I told you so"?

            Erestor was catechizing Estel, and so happy was that boy at being included in the riding that he did not object in the least.

            "Now the rulers of Arthedain," prompted Erestor.

            "The rulers of Arthedain," declaimed Estel.  "Amlaith of Fornost, eldest son of Eärendur, begat Beleg.  Beleg begat Mallor, and Mallor begat Celepharn.  Celepharn begat Celebrindor, and Celebrindor begat Malvegil.  Malvegil begat Argeleb the First, and Argeleb the First begat Arveleg the First, who begat Araphor.  Araphor begat Argeleb the Second, who begat Arveleg the Second, who begat Araval.  Araval begat Araphant, and Araphant begat Arvedui Last King.  This was the end of the North-Kingdom."

            "Excellent.  And the ancient forebear of all these kings?"

            "Elendil, last leader of the Faithful of Númenor.  In nine ships, he and his sons escaped from the Downfall.  They bore away from the wreckage of Númenor seven seeing-stones and a seedling of Nimloth.  Cast by a storm upon the shores of Middle-Earth, they established the Númenorean realms in exile, Arnor in the north and Gondor in the south."

 "Excellent.  And do you know the names of the kings of Arnor?"

"The kings of Arnor," recited Estel.  "Elendil, Isildur, Valandil, Eldacar, Arantar, Tarcil, Tarondor, Valandur, Elendur, and Eärendur, who begat Amlaith, first of the rulers of Arthedain.  Erestor, the kings of Arnor bear names in the High-elven, but the kings of Arthedain do not.  Why is that?"

"Ah," said Erestor sadly, "the line had much declined by then.  The abandonment of High-elven is a token of that.  But the time will come," continued Erestor, straightening his shoulders, "when the heirs of Isildur shall again bear names in the High-elven."

"Erestor, after Malvegil, all the kings bear names that begin with 'Ar'—aye, and the Chieftains who follow them do so as well.  Why is that?"

"After Malvegil, the heirs of Isildur once again laid claim to lordship over all of Arnor.  Even after the descendants could no longer enforce their rights, in token of their claim, they prefixed the name of each son with the 'Ar'.  And they do so today."

"And today the descendants of Isildur are the Dúnadain?"

"Aye, and of old they were led by a chieftain.  Can you tell me the names of the Chieftains?"

"Aranarth, elder son of Arvedui," Estel began promptly.  "Arahael, Aranuir, Aravir, Aragorn, Araglas, Arahad the First, Aragost, Aravorn, Arahad the Second, Arassuil, Arathorn, Argonui, and Arador.  Is there no chieftain now?"

"Not at the moment."

"Will there ever be one again?"

"Perhaps."

"My father was called Arathorn.  Was he named after Arathorn son of Arassuil?"

"Possibly."

"My true name is Aragorn.  Was I named in honor of Aragorn son of Aravir?"

"Really, Estel, I am not in a position to know.  No doubt Elrond will one day explain your parentage."

"But," Estel argued stubbornly, "I am of Ranger-kind, am I not?  So it is very likely that I was named after that other Aragorn."

"Actually, Estel, you are not entirely of Ranger-kind.  You have a bit of elvish blood in you.  You are kin, albeit distantly, to Elrond."

Estel was delighted.

 "I am!  No one ever told me this!  How is it that we are related?"

Erestor realized that he had said too much.

"Oh," he said hastily, "your genealogy is long and complex, and I do not think I could do it justice at the moment.  In any event, it is really Elrond who should explain it to you.  But enough of history and genealogy.  Let us turn now to Natural History."

"Yes, Natural History," said Estel eagerly.  "I have a question."

Erestor looked at him warily.  Estel's questions were becoming too probing.

"Ye-es?" he said cautiously.

"Is it true that Orcs and Elves are related?"

"Estel!"

"Well," said Estel stubbornly, "some say it is true—that Orcs are descended from Elves who were tortured by the Dark Lord until their very souls were warped.  Orcs and Elves both have pointed ears, is that not so?"

"Aye, and so do the Periannath, but I have never heard tell that Elves are kin to those little people."

"Maybe they are," argued Estel.  "Maybe the Periannath are little Elves.  Gandalf says that they can move as quietly as Elves and that they love tales and songs, as Elves do."

"Estel, you are talking nonsense.  Let us talk about something serious, like Trolls."

"Oh," Estel said airily, "I know all about Trolls.  They are big and stupid and waylay unwary travelers.  They prefer to dwell in caves, because there they are protected from the rays of the sun, which will else turn them into stone.  Gandalf says that on a journey with some Dwarves and a Periannath, he succeeded in petrifying three Trolls by tricking them into arguing with one another until sunrise.  He says that to this day the three stand like statues in the clearing where they were preparing to cook the Dwarves and the Periannath.  I should like to see that clearing some day!"

"Hmmph," muttered Erestor grudgingly, "not bad.  However, I must tell you that lately there have been reports of Trolls abroad during the day, a new breed, apparently, although no one knows whence they have come.  If true, this is ill news indeed."

"And I have heard," Estel added, "that an oliphaunt-like creature has been seen in the land of Harad, but much larger and fiercer."

"Aye, the mûmakil.  I see bad things arising if this tale be true.  Under control of the Southrons, such creatures could be deployed to great effect.  Let us hope that there be nothing to these rumors."

Glorfindel rode up just then.  He looked approvingly at tutor and pupil.  To his very great surprise, not to mention delight, neither Estel nor Erestor had caused him a moment's worry.

"We stop now for the noon meal.  There is a spring over yonder where you may wash."

Erestor looked pleased, Estel less so.  The latter thought that there had been altogether too much bathing on this journey.  "After all," he thought to himself, "of what purpose is an excursion if not to provide a break from routine."  As bathing was very much a routine at Rivendell, ergo, on a journey it ought to forgone.

In spite of his objections, Estel nonetheless trailed obediently behind his tutor and splashed enough water upon his face to pass muster.  The company's outriders had brought down several conies and squirrels, and Estel, under the direction of Baramagor, was set to skinning them.  Estel had been unpleasantly surprised to discover that, as he had been deemed old enough to join the company, he was also deemed old enough to be the skivvy.  "You are the youngest," Glorfindel had told him, "and each young one in his turn must haul water, gather wood, wash dishes, and skin and gut game.  It is as much of your education as anything you learn on the library or in the field.  It will do you no good to become an accomplished swordsman if you starve because you cannot cook a cony!"

Baramagor and Celaithand had been the youngest before Estel had joined the company, and fortunately for the little human, they were good-natured enough to lend him a hand, so he was not overwhelmed by his new responsibility.  While Baramagor gave Estel lessons in skinning and gutting game, Celaithand collected the firewood and hauled the water, and after the meal all three joined together in washing the dishes.  As soon as they had completed that task, Glorfindel gave the order for the company to mount up.  All did so with a will, for they were nearing the pass to Lothlórien, and all were looking forward to arriving in that golden land.  They had not traveled far, however, before Glorfindel began to feel uneasy.  They were still below the tree line, so bird calls should still have been audible, but a deathly silence had fallen upon the mountain.  Glorfindel raised his hand and brought the company to a halt.

"Dismount," he ordered.  "Draw swords and string bows."

Standing beside Erestor, Estel drew his little dagger.  Erestor frowned at him, but Estel pretended not to notice.  Erestor carried no bow, but he drew his sword and positioned himself so that Estel was wedged between the Elf and the lad's pony.  Estel tried to move to the side so that he could better see what transpired, but Erestor thrust him back with a growl.  Startled at his tutor's uncharacteristic vehemence, Estel remained where he was.

Nothing could be seen in the trees that surrounded them, but Glorfindel ordered that arrows be nocked and strings drawn.  Suddenly, at a nod from Glorfindel, a volley of arrows was released into the trees.  Howls and shrieks broke out, and the Orcs forsook the cover of the trees.

Estel had seen Orcs and even slain two, but he had never seen a horde of them in full charge.  Unnerved, he dropped his little blade and began to scramble about on the ground, frantically trying to retrieve it.  This was probably fortunate, as it gave Erestor free play to swing his sword.  Estel was splattered with blood as Erestor beheaded first one, then another, then a third Orc.  Awed, Estel momentarily gave up looking for his knife.  Was Erestor a balrog-slayer then!?  Suddenly, however, Estel spied his dagger and lunged for it—and just in time, too.  For all his efforts, Erestor had been surrounded and was imperiled.  Crouched on the ground, unnoticed, Estel drove his knife into the calf of one of the foes who pressed Erestor so.  The Orc yelped and looked down, and Erestor drove his sword into his gut.  He yanked his sword free and hacked off the arm of another Orc who had likewise been lamed by Estel.

Orcs are stupid, but it was not too long before they perceived the danger that lurked at their feet.  Soon several Orcs were in pursuit of the little human.  Cleverly, Estel escaped them by slipping underneath first one horse, than another.  He was now, however, separated from Erestor, and that Elf looked about frantically in an effort to spy his young charge.  At last he caught sight of the lad, who, having run out of horses to hide under, was climbing a tree.  Ai! Orcs are not the most agile of creatures, but several were nonetheless swarming up the tree after Estel.  The boy reached the uttermost branch and looked from side to side, gauging the distance to the nearest tree.  It was obvious that he meant to jump for it, and Erestor prayed that he would make it.  The alternative was too horrible to contemplate.  Estel gathered himself to spring but suddenly looked up as a shadow loomed over him.  Seized in the talons of an enormous winged creature, in a trice the heir to the throne of Gondor had vanished.


	5. Winged Creatures

_Silver badger: _Wow!  Thanks for the compliment!

_Jebb, Coolio, Joee, Dragonfly, _and_ Karri: _So, you all think Estel was snatched by an eagle, eh.  Well, well, let's see if you are right.

_Dragonfly:_ I'm visualizing Estel as about ten at this point.

_Athena Diagon Cat, Dragonfly, _and_ Karri: _Yes, Erestor certainly covered himself in glory.  He gets covered in a bit more in this chapter.

            "This garment is moth-eaten," exclaimed Gandalf.  "You must have moths hereabouts!"

            Elrond stared at him.  Had his old friend gone mad?

            "Moths! Moths!" Gandalf cried impatiently.

            "Mithrandir, have you heard nothing I have said!?  My sons and Estel, the last of Isildur's line, are riding into an ambush!"

            "I know! I know!  Pray take me to your moths!'

            "In this season in the garden, I suppose."

            Gandalf sprang to his feet and raced from the room, buskins flapping on his feet.  Bewildered, Elrond ran after him.  He found the wizard in the garden earnestly addressing the moths that perched on the flowers on one bush in particular.  Elrond did not catch what he said, but as one the moths arose and fluttered away, making for the southeast, Elrond noticed.

            "Now I must have the fastest horse left in the stable," declared Gandalf.

            "Glorfindel has left behind his great steed, for, as Estel was mounted on a pony, there was no call to ride the faster mount.  But Mithrandir, I am sure you remember that—"

            "Never mind about that.  I am sure once he realizes that Glorfindel's life may be at stake, he will not object to carrying me."

            With that, Gandalf strode into the stable and boldly entered the stall of Glorfindel's great steed.  Rapidly uttering a string of elvish words, the wizard sprang onto his back and galloped out of the stable, mauve robe flying.  Elrond sprang aside and then stared after them.  One of Gandalf's buskins fell off, but the wizard rode on, unperturbed.  Elrond shook himself out of his amazement and hurried into the Hall, there to summon Berenmaethor and Thoron.  A troop must be sent out at once.  No doubt Mithrandir would reach his sons first, but Elrond would do what he could to second him.  

            Glorfindel's horse was indeed willing once Gandalf explained his errand.  The horse thundered across the valley as wizard and steed rode parallel to the mountains for a time.  At last they began to climb the slope that led to the Lórien pass, and the horse perforce had to slow.  Still they were making excellent time, although Gandalf feared that they would be too late no matter how swiftly they traveled.  The Orcs who had ambushed Gandalf had been both numerous and devilishly determined.  Gandalf had been able to flee, but with Estel in the company, the wizard feared that his friends would not have that option.

As Gandalf drew near the scene of the ambush, however, Estel was no longer a part of the company.  Horrified, Erestor had seen the lad carried off.  There was now nothing he could do save safeguard his remaining companions, and this he did with a vengeance.  Orc limbs were flying as Erestor fought toward Glorfindel, who was of course in the thick of the battle.  As Erestor drew near, the balrog-slayer stumbled over a fallen Orc.  Another Orc sprang forward to take advantage of the fact that Glorfindel was momentarily off balance.  Said Orc was cleaved in half at the waist.  Glorfindel looked up in astonishment to see a blood-soaked Erestor dismembering Orcs into portions of various shapes and sizes.

"Thank you, my friend," Glorfindel shouted.  "I am forever in your debt."

"You dwarf-brain," retorted Erestor.  "What's the matter with you!?  This is no time for etiquette!?"

Chastened, Glorfindel scrambled to his feet and dispensed both with the formalities and with several Orcs.  It seemed, however, that reinforcements must be pouring in, for no matter how many goblins the Elves slew, the number that they faced seemed undiminished.

 Midway through the battle, the Elves' horses had begun to scatter, some on the command of their riders, who did not wish to see their companions slain, others driven away by the fury of the battle itself.  Mithrandir began to encounter the Rivendell horses, singly and in groups of two or three.  He called to them and they turned about, falling in behind Mithrandir and his steed.  The wizard could hear the distant clash of weapons, and he led his herd of horses almost at a gallop, even though they were racing upslope and through trees.  Trailing behind the galloping horses was a little pony.  There was little he could do, but he was determined to play his part.

With a thunderous roar Gandalf's herd broke onto the battleground.  Left and right Elves nimbly leaped for tree limbs, but the Orcs were not so quick.  Many were trampled as the horses swept across the battlefield.  Once on the other side, scarce waiting for Gandalf's command, the herd wheeled about and swept the field a second time.  No Orc was left standing save one after this second charge.

That one Orc had scrambled behind a tree, the one in which Erestor had quickly sheltered.  Now that Elf, seeing that the danger had apparently passed, dropped to the ground.  The Orc slipped out from behind the tree, scimitar raised.  Glorfindel saw his friend's peril.

"ERESTOR!"

The balrog-slayer needn't have worried, for just at that moment the Orc went flying.  Before the goblin could recover himself, he found himself under the hooves of one small but brave pony, who neighed and tossed his mane in a fury as he did away with the evil creature.  Once sure that the Orc had been trampled into the dust, the pony trotted to Erestor and nuzzled him.  Erestor, usually never one to display tenderness toward either younglings or animals, flung his arms around the horse's neck and buried his face in its mane.

"Smells like Estel," he thought woefully to himself, fighting back tears.

Estel, meanwhile, was fighting back tears himself.  He was suspended far above the ground, in the talons of a monstrous being, and he was miles from his friends.  He felt dizzy as the clouds rushed by his feet, and his shoulders ached where they were clutched by the winged creature.  Just when he thought he would cry outright, the creature suddenly released him, and he yelped as he tumbled into an eagle's aerie.  The enormous eagle perched at the edge of his nest and surveyed him.

"So," the bird observed, "_this_ is the kinglet."

Estel thought the eagle had said 'cutlet', and he finally did cry.  The bird looked at him in astonishment.

"Mithrandir sent me in search of a brave lad.  It seems I have snatched the wrong human.  Shall I return you to your tree?"

At the mention of Mithrandir, Estel hastily dried his tears.

"If it was Mithrandir sent you, no, my Lord."

"Good.  Remain here whilst I search out the wizard for his further instructions.  If you become hungry in my absence, there is a cony."

Estel looked at the raw and partially disemboweled rabbit.

"No, thank you, my Lord," he said politely.  "I have but lately eaten."

"Very well.  I shall be back shortly.  I travel as the crow flies, as Men are wont to say.  Although," the eagle sniffed, "it has not been _my_ experience that crows fly very straight at all.  'Tis an ill-founded proverb."

With that the raptor spread his enormous wings and was carried aloft by the wind.  Soon he had dwindled to a speck in the sky, and then he was swallowed up within a cloud.  Estel drew his cloak about him—it was cold on top of the mountain!—and he looked about him.  He quickly perceived that the aerie was inaccessible to Orc, Man and even Elf.  No foe could get at him here.  On the other hand, he would have to depend upon the good graces of the eagle to return to his friends.  Well, if this eagle were a friend of Gandalf's, he need have no fear on that score.  Satisfied with his reflections, Estel mounded some moss and grass into a pillow and lay himself down to sleep.  Estel was nothing if not practical.

Down on the battlefield, things were also taking a practical turn, although only after Gandalf had assuaged the fears of the Elves as to the fate of Estel.  Erestor had practically thrown himself upon the wizard.

"Mithrandir, Estel has been carried off by a raptor!"

"A very large one, no doubt," said Gandalf calmly.

"Of course, Mithrandir!  Only a large one could have carried off a boy of ten."

"Gwaihir, no doubt."

"Gwaihir?  Oh, yes, of course!  Gwaihir!  So this was your doing, Mithrandir?"

"Largely.  Although the timing was Gwaihir's, to be sure.  I have noticed that he likes to wait until the last moment to affect a rescue—more dramatic that way, I suppose.  That habit of his has caused me more than a few bad moments, I can assure you!"

"Well," broke in Glorfindel, "if that is the case, then we had better turn our attention to healing the effects of this battle.  There are a lot of stinking Orcs here who will stink all the worse if their carcasses are not burned."

"Yes," replied Gandalf, "but first you had better make sure that they _are_ all carcasses.  Got a nasty cut across the back once when I mistook a live Orc for a dead one.  I'll tell you the story some time."

"Yes," said Glorfindel briskly.  "Some time."

With that the balrog-slayer quickly moved away and gave orders that surviving Orcs be slain and that wood be gathered so that the bodies of their foes might be burned.  Other Elves gathered water to bathe their injuries and to scrub away the foulness of Orc blood.  Erestor was badly in need of such a cleansing.

"You had better wash yourself, Erestor," observed Gandalf.  "I have never seen an Elf so coated with blood, and I have seen a lot in my lifetime."

By then Erestor had recovered enough to notice the appearance of the wizard himself.

"And I," he chortled, "have never seen a wizard in a mauve robe—nor one with one shoe off and the other on.  How came you to be clad in such a fashion—if fashion it is?"

Gandalf was saved from the necessity of replying by the drumbeat of approaching horses.

"Ah," he said, "that would be the cavalry riding to the rescue.  I must say that they have made excellent time, far better than I expected!"

Up cantered the Imladris Elves.  They were led by Elrond himself, who had decided to leave Berenmaethor in charge so that he might venture forth instead.

"Mae govannen," called Gandalf.

"Mae govannen?" replied Elrond.  "Are you sure?  Where is Estel?"

"Quite safe.  In fact, here comes his guarantor right now."

Gandalf nodded toward the sky at a distant speck that was rapidly becoming larger.

"Really, Elrond," Gandalf continued dryly, "you really should try instant moth messaging sometime.  Very effective means of communication."

"I will remember that the next time I have a message that absolutely, positively must be there the next day," replied Elrond, smiling now.

Gwaihir had landed now, and Gandalf and Elrond both bowed respectfully to the Wind Lord.

"Good-day to you," said the eagle.  "This one wasn't so heavy, Gandalf.  Only as tall as a Dwarf, but much skinnier in the frame."

"Well, well," replied Gandalf, "I am glad that you did not find him too burdensome.'

"Now what would you like me to do with him?  Shall I bring him back here or to some other place?"

"Take him back to Rivendell straightaway!" exclaimed Elrond.

"Nay, Elrond," objected Gandalf.  "Should he not rejoin the company?"

"In a sense, yes, for the whole company is to return to Imladris at once."

"Why is that, Elrond?'

"Surely you must see that it is too dangerous for them to continue."

"But I do not see that at all.  Would you have the Elves withdraw within their scattered realms—Imladris, Lothlórien, and Mirkwood—and cede the lands between to your foes?  Nay, not so!  Middle-Earth is yours, and if you do not intend to make it so, you should journey forthwith to the Grey Havens!"

Elrond pondered.

"Very well, Mithrandir.  The company shall continue onward.  But the child must return to Rivendell."

Gandalf shook his head.

"Elrond, someday Estel must come to the throne of Gondor, and he cannot prepare to do so from within the walls of Rivendell.  Ten is not overmuch young for a man-child to take up the duties of a warrior-in-training."

Elrond hesitated.  Mithrandir had one last throw.

"If it will reassure you, Elrond, I myself shall journey on with the company.  There.  Will that do?"

Elrond broke into a smile.

"Very well, Mithrandir.  Estel may rejoin his companions."

The Elf-lord turned to the Eagle Lord.

"If you would please, my friend, I should like you to bring Estel back here."

Gwaihir bowed gravely, but he could not resist joking a little.

"Certainly, my friend.  I shall return shortly, flying as I do upon the wings of eagles!"

After Gwaihir had left, Gandalf shook his head and laughed.

"I am grateful for the day that I met that bird.  He has pulled my fat out of the fire more than once.'

"And I suspect he shall have to do it again in the future," retorted Elrond.  "For you this has been the millennium of living dangerously."

"For all of us," corrected the wizard.

"Aye.  For all of us." 


	6. Practically Perfect

_Farflung__: _Yes, I admit it: I have way too much fun writing these stories.

_Lynn__: _Thank you.  I will correct that.

_Grumpy: _Here is the more you were looking forward to, I hope.

_Pallas Analise:_ Thank you.  I'm glad the light elements work for you.

_Joee__: _Yes, Erestor's behavior was a little different from what we have come to expect.

_Dragonfly:_ Oooh!  I think you've provided a marketing slogan for an Erestor action figure: 'Not just a librarian!'

_Silver badger: _If you think _that _was an unexpected twist, wait until you read see what happens in _this_ chapter.

_Bbuttercup__: _I am sure that in a future story Glorfindel will have it thrown in his face that he was saved by Erestor.  It is too much to expect Erestor to pass up such an opportunity.

_Karri: _Thank you.  The cutlet line seems to have gone over rather well.

_Melissa: _And thank _you_ for your thank you!

            Something big and dark swooped through Estel's dream, and then he felt a nibbling at his ear.  Gwaurant?  The boy opened his eyes.

"Aaaaah!"  Estel jerked upright.  The enormous eagle took a step back, stretched his wings, and then folded them again.

"Skittish, aren't you?"

"Your pardon, my Lord," said the boy, shamefaced.  "I awoke so suddenly.  I expected to see my dog."

"Your _dog_!?"

"Um, well, sometimes he licks my face.  I felt something at my ear and thought it was him."

"Ah, I see.  No doubt," observed the eagle sardonically, "it is a good thing your dog wakes you in such a fashion, for I judge that to be your preferred—nay, your only!—method of washing your face."

Estel blushed deeply enough for the color to show under the grime.

"I was just in a battle, my Lord, and I was crawling about in the dirt.  I am not _always_ this filthy."

"I will have you know that Mithrandir specified that you yourself would not weigh overmuch but that the soil affixed to you would add somewhat to my burden."

"He didn't!"

"You are right.  He didn't.  But it is very like the sort of thing he _does_ say."

"You must know Gandalf very well," admitted Estel.

"Oh, yes.  We go back quite awhile.  And now, speaking of 'go back', I am to take you to rejoin your companions, who, you will be happy to know, are all safe.  If you like, you may ride between my wings.  I am sure you will find perching there more comfortable than dangling from my talons."

"Yes, my Lord.  Meaning no disrespect, but your talons _are_ rather sharp."

"No offense taken.  Indeed, you compliment me.  We eagles pride ourselves upon our rapier-like talons, second only in sharpness to our rapier-wit, if I may be permitted to say so."

Estel thought to himself that an eagle so equipped was to be permitted to say anything he pleased, but he did not voice this thought aloud.  Instead, he carefully clambered up onto the eagle's back.  Once the eagle was certain that the boy was well-balanced and had a good grip, he spread his wings and soared into the air.  Estel enjoyed this second flight much more than he had the first.  He was quite comfortable in both mind and body, and he was in fact sorry when the eagle began to slowly spiral downward toward the Elves' encampment.  All too soon the flight was over and Estel was standing before the eagle politely thanking him and bidding him farewell.  The eagle paused briefly to exchange a few pleasantries with Gandalf and then once more soared into the air.

"How did you find Gwaihir, my lad?" asked Gandalf after the raptor had departed.

"Um, well, he has a cutting wit, Gandalf," said Estel hesitantly.

"Is that so?  Well, well, no doubt that accounts for our getting on so well."

Elrond, who stood near, could not forebear laughing.

"Gandalf," he chided the wizard, "beware of hubris!"

"Hubris?  What hubris?  Any rational estimation of my merits would allow that I have a cutting wit.  I am not claiming to be perfect—only practically so."

"Gandalf," growled Glorfindel, who had joined the group in time to hear the last comment, "practically perfect in everything."

"Exactly," said Gandalf.  "_Practically_.  I do not claim to be altogether perfect, merely very nearly so."

Glorfindel shook his head.

"You have more self-assurance than I do—and that's saying a lot."

"Excuse me," interrupted Estel.  "I haven't had anything to eat in a while.  The eagle offered me a cony, but it was raw and I couldn't stomach it."

"Ah," crowed Glorfindel, "now you see that cooking is important, don't you!?  You won't complain about skivvy duty ever again, will you?"

"If I answer that I won't, may I have somewhat to eat?"

This answer was greeted with laughter.

"I believe," said Elrond, "that your brothers have set aside a plate for you.  You may go to them now."

"Thank you, Ada," exclaimed Estel, and he hurried off to a campfire beside which sat Elladan and Elrohir.

"Estel," called Elrohir as the boy approached, "we hear from Erestor that you did good work with your blade."

"Yes, but I dropped it when the eagle seized me."

"True," said Elladan, "but Erestor saw that and he hunted around the tree until he found it."

"Did he!?  How very kind of him.  Where is he?"

"Currying your pony," said Elrohir.

"Really!?  Erestor is truly a wonder!"

"How so?" asked Elladan.  "Currying a pony does not require much strength or wit."

"No, but taking the trouble to tend to another's mount is certainly praiseworthy, is that not so?"

"Estel has become a philosopher," joked Elrohir.

"Very well.  You may mock me," retorted Estel, a little irked.  "But at least you will allow that Erestor showed himself to be a warrior of great worth.  _That _is something you would have observed, even if you are not capable of noticing anything else."

Elrohir felt himself rebuked, as indeed he had been.

"I am sorry, Estel.  You are right.  Erestor is not to be scorned.  He is just and kindly and brave.  He has always done right by me, even if I have not properly acknowledged that fact.  I shall try to do better in the future."

"See that you do," said Estel smugly.  That, however, was pushing matters too far, and Elrohir felt it necessary to restore some balance to the relationship.  Estel found himself tackled and tickled mercilessly.  He did not become any cleaner as a result, but at least he now had a partner in grime, as Elrohir was thoroughly dirty himself before he let Estel up.

I should say when he was forced to let Estel up.  The venerable personage they had been discussing returned from currying Estel's pony in time to see Elrohir and Estel rolling about in the dust.

"Here, now," he spluttered, "what sort of behavior is this!?  For shame, Elrohir!  Estel is only a boy, but you are an Elf full-grown!  Leave off at once."

"Yes, Erestor," said Elrohir meekly, arising and dusting himself off.  "Thank you for correcting my behavior, Erestor."

This was not the sort of reply the tutor was accustomed to receiving from Elrohir, and he stared at the young Elf suspiciously before striding away to join the older Elves.  He arrived just in time to hear Elrond chaffing Glorfindel.

"So, my friend," Elrond was saying, "you wanted excitement, and you have got it.  I hope you are satisfied."

"Indeed, the trip has exceeded my expectations," replied Glorfindel drily.

"And we are not even to Lórien yet," observed Erestor.

"You do not want to turn back?" asked Elrond hopefully.  In spite of his conversation with Gandalf, he would really rather that the company returned to Rivendell.

"No, certainly not!" exclaimed Glorfindel.  "After going to the trouble of clearing the pass, it would be a pity not to go forward."

"Oh," said Elrond sardonically, "was that what you were doing—clearing the pass?  And here I had thought that you had been ambushed."

Watching this entire exchange with amusement, Gandalf pulled out his pipe.

"Mithrandir!" exclaimed Elrond, Erestor, and Glorfindel in unison, suddenly united in their distaste for that Mannish habit.  Gandalf raised his hands in a gesture of defeat.

"Very well!  I shall betake myself elsewhere."

With that he picked up his staff, which had been resting against a tree, and strode off, disappearing into the forest.

It was getting on toward dusk by now, and Erestor retreated to his cloth shelter while Elrond made for Glorfindel's, which the balrog-slayer had very kindly given over for the shared use of Elrond and Gandalf.  Glorfindel himself would bunk with Erestor for that one night, and Estel, who had been sharing with Erestor, would squeeze in with Elladan and Elrohir.   Glorfindel did not retire immediately.  He set the watches and walked the bounds for a considerable time.  Only then did he betake himself to his bedroll.  By then Erestor was asleep.  Perhaps that had been Glorfindel's reason for patrolling for such a lengthy time—to spare himself intimate conversation with Erestor, whom he loved but could not abide in close quarters.

There were no disturbances during the night, so Glorfindel was able to enjoy an unbroken rest.  Elrond, too, awoke refreshed, surprisingly so, given the fright he had had over the safety of his sons.  He lay still for awhile, enjoying the cool air and the morning chorus of birds.  At last he rolled over until he faced Gandalf's bedroll.  It was empty.

Elrond sat up abruptly and looked about anxiously.  He saw no sign that the wizard had ever been in the tent.  Elrond threw aside his covering.  Leaping from his feet, he ran from the shelter, nearly colliding with Glorfindel.

"Elrond, whatever is the matter!?"

"Glorfindel, when last did you see Mithrandir!?"

"When he went off to have a pipe."

"You never saw him return to the camp?"

"Nay, I did not.  He had not come back by the time I turned in."

"The sentries.  Did any of the sentries see him return?"

"I shall ask."

Glorfindel hurried off to rouse each of the Elves who had stood watch.  When he returned to Elrond, his face was grim.

"None saw him."

At once Elrond and Glorfindel roused the remainder of the camp and set everyone to searching.  It was Erestor and Estel—Erestor would not let Estel from his side—who found signs of the wizard.  Unharmed, a staff stood leaning against a tree trunk.  In the dirt, broken in two, lay a pipe, tobacco spilling from its bowl.  Erestor and Estel summoned Glorfindel and Elrond.  Glorfindel studied the ground.  Something had been dragged away from that place.  Glorfindel and Erestor followed the trail through the leaf litter.  The trail ran parallel to the mountain ridge, and then, once the Elves' camp had been bypassed, it went upslope.  At the tree line, Glorfindel bent down and picked up something.  It was a lone buskin.  Past the tree line, there was only hard stone to be seen.  Glorfindel had lost the trail.

Glorfindel and Elrond stood silent for awhile.  Glorfindel at last spoke.

"What shall we do?"

"We are closer to Lórien than to Rivendell.  Erestor should lead the company onward and ask Celeborn and Galadriel to send scouts to join us.  Thoron came out with me.  He is an excellent scout.  He should assist us in our search.  So too should Elladan and Elrohir."

Glorfindel nodded.

"That will make five searchers at the outset, soon to be joined by those from Lórien."

Elrond did not reply.  He stood gazing bleakly toward the summit of the mountain.

"Elrond," Glorfindel said desperately, "he _is_ alive."

"Aye," said Elrond.  "But for how long?"


	7. A Faceless Enemy

_Melissa: _I don't know how much dignity Gandalf can have in a mauve robe!

_Karri: _Another twist coming up.  Hope you have motion sickness on hand.

_Athena Diagon Cat: _Yep.  And they're not even halfway there (and Gandalf, for one, is now heading in the wrong direction).

_Pallas Analise: _Thank you.  The child is supposedly the father of the man, so I glad you can see the 'kingly' nature of Estel the kinglet.

_Dragonfly: _Gandalf is going to wish he had been dragged off by a Troll!

_Joee__: _Let us hope that there is enough left of Gandalf _to_ mock!

            Gandalf was spinning around and around, his body flying up, up toward the dark at the top of a tall tower.  He could not tell what awaited him there.  No, he thought, consciousness returning, that wasn't it at all.  He was not flying through the air.  He was on a horse.  Yes, he had been thrown over the back of a horse and was being painfully jounced at each step.  His head ached, his chest ached, and his feet were cold.  Oh, yes, he remembered; he had lost his shoes.  The jouncing stopped.  Someone pulled him from the horse and threw him to the ground.  Gandalf shivered.  The unseen hands were icy cold.  A water bladder was held to his lips.  The liquid was foul, but he was thirsty.  He drank, and the bladder did not vanish until his thirst had been satisfied.  It was a consideration he had not expected.  Nor did he expect to be covered with the blanket that now materialized.

            "So I am not to be killed," he thought.  "Not yet at any rate."

The wizard tested the ropes that bound his hands and tried to peer through his blindfold.  Neither effort was rewarded.  His feet were not secured, but that wouldn't do him any good if he couldn't see which way to flee.  In any event, his captor had a horse and would like as not run him down if he did try to escape on foot.  No, he was going to have to be quite clever about regaining his freedom.  Of course, he didn't feel very clever at the moment.  He had jauntily gone off into the woods, set aside his staff, and devoted his attention to lighting a pipe.  Radagast would have been more aware of his surroundings than he had been!  How could he have been so foolish!  How could he have let someone or something creep up on him!

"The Valar ought to recall me for gross dereliction of duty," he growled to himself.  "And no doubt there will be Elves coming after me, putting themselves in peril on my account when I was the one sent to assist the denizens of Arda, rather than the other way around.  Curse me for a fool!"

In spite of the blanket, Gandalf shivered again as he felt his captor draw near.  This was no Orc; of that much he was certain.  The creature drew him to his feet and led him back to the horse.  He was left standing momentarily whilst his captor mounted the steed.  Then the being reached down and pulled Gandalf up before him.  Whatever the creature might be, he was very strong, seemingly.  Gandalf shivered and leaned forward, pressing against the horse's neck.  The creature seemed to drain the warmth from his body.  His captor must have understood this, for the blanket reappeared, but even with that barrier between prisoner and captor, Gandalf felt cold.

  Gandalf had not heard his captor utter a word, and the wizard wondered whether he were capable of speech.

"May I ask," said the Istar, "in whose company I travel?"

No answer.

The wizard tried again.

"I am very grateful for the water and the blanket.  May I trouble you to untie my hands and remove this blindfold?"

 No answer.

"If we are to travel long together, it would be very pleasant to know—aaaah!"

The creature had seized hold of Gandalf's neck, and icy waves of pain shot through his body.  Gandalf felt as if he were being stabbed with shards of ice, and he lost consciousness.  When he recovered his senses, he was once again lying on the ground, the blanket covering him.  From the cool air, he knew it was night.

"So I have been captive at least one full turning of the sun," he said to himself.  "I wonder which direction we are traveling.  South, I shouldn't doubt.  Our enemies lie to the south.  Am I to be carried to Harad?  Or mayhap to Mordor.  Harad, I hope.  I could outwit the Southrons, I think, but I am not yet ready to face the Dark Lord, if ever I will be."

Gandalf had spied out the ways of Sauron when that being had dwelt in Dol Guldur in the guise of the Necromancer.  The Istar had even assisted in driving the Dark Lord from that stronghold, but he had had aid and had borne his staff.  Now he was alone and bereft of that weapon, and he feared that his mind would be laid bare should he be driven to confront Sauron in his current state.  The harm that would result would be incalculable.  It occurred to Gandalf that perhaps he ought to think about doing away with himself.

"If I cannot escape, I must stop my mouth," he mused.  "It is too soon to despair, of course, but if I am freed neither by myself nor others, I must die."

Gandalf felt cold approaching and knew that his captor drew near.  Again a water bladder was held to his mouth.  Again he was drawn to his feet and led to the horse.  As before, his captor mounted and then pulled the wizard up before him.  Blanket covering him, Gandalf rested his head upon the horse's neck and cudgeled his brains, trying to think of some device by which he could escape.

"If we are traveling south," he thought to himself, "we must pass by Fangorn Forest, which means that at some point we shall not be far from Isengard.  If only I could get a message to Saruman.  He has power enough to counter this thing, I am sure.  Or if I could somehow loosen my blindfold enough to see a little, mayhap I could make it into the forest and give my captor the slip amongst the tangle of trees.  Would it be too much to hope that Treebeard or some other Ent may be nearby?  They would protect me, I am sure."

With these prospects in mind, Gandalf began to flex his wrists a little, trying to stretch the bonds enough so that he could slip his hands free at an opportune moment and tear the blindfold from his face.  As his hands were hidden by the blanket, he had hopes of succeeding.  Ai! His captor divined his intentions somehow, and suddenly icy hands seized the wizard's wrists.  The Istar cried out as pain shot up and down his arms.  He came near swooning again, but the creature released its grip just as darkness began to overtake Gandalf's mind.   Panting, Gandalf was sure that he was going to be sick, although he had had no food in his stomach since the previous evening.  His captor dismounted and pulled his prisoner from the horse, tossing him roughly upon the ground.  This time he did not offer him water or cover him with a blanket, and Gandalf lay alternately shivering and sweating, his eyes tightly closed.  To make matters worse, his captor now tied his ankles, pulling the ropes so tight that the wizard winced.

While Gandalf was enduring this pitiless treatment, his friends were frantically seeking for him.  As soon as Erestor had informed Celeborn and Galadriel of the wizard's disappearance, the Lord and Lady had sent out as many scouts as they could spare, Haldir and his brothers among them.  Search parties had gone out in all directions, north and south, east and west.  No trace had been found of the wizard's passing.

Elrond and the other Imladris Elves had chosen to go south.  On and on they rode, heads bent as they scanned the ground, looking for the print of foot or hoof.  They found nothing.

"Elrond," Glorfindel said at last, "they must have kept to the mountain ridge; else we would have found some sign by now."

"True," said Elrond, "but they must come down eventually."

"Aye, but they could descend at any point.  With so much territory to cover, we will hit upon their trail only by chance."

"But what are we to do?" asked Elrond in frustration.

"We chose to search to the south because we believed it likeliest that any enemy who would assail Mithrandir would have come from the south, is that not so?"

"Aye.  Either Southrons or the servants of Mordor.  At the very least, someone in their employ who would wish to carry Mithrandir to their master."

"Then, as we believe Mithrandir's captors will carry him south, we must seek aid from allies along that route.  Anyone heading south must at length descend from the mountains and pass through or by Fangorn Forest.  That would mean that they must come near to Isengard.  Therefore, we must leave off searching for our friend and hasten at once to the tower of Orthanc.  Saruman and his servants would no doubt hear tell of anyone who passed near that place, and, once Saruman learns that it is Mithrandir who has been taken, he will direct all his powers to his recovery."

"Aye," exclaimed Elrond, straightening his shoulders, the hope returning to his eyes.  "That is an excellent plan.  We must ride as quickly as possibly to Isengard and enlist the aid of Saruman!"

Begging their horses to make haste, the Elves rode without let or stay to the stronghold of Saruman the White.  That wizard perceived their coming from afar.  The gates were open when the Elves arrived, and they rode straight to the steps of the tower of Orthanc, where the Istar gravely awaited them.

"You are welcome, my friends," he said gently.  "I see that some great trouble rests upon you.  Is there aught I can do to ease your burden?"

"You can indeed, my Lord," replied Elrond eagerly.  "Mithrandir has been taken, and we believe that he will be carried south.  We wish to enlist the aid of your servants in recovering him."

Saruman rarely showed surprise, but the flicker of shock in his eyes was unmistakable.  Mithrandir taken, but not by his servants?  How could this be?  What force was meddling in his domain, seizing valuable prisoners without his leave!?   Saruman's eyes narrowed.  He had lately received reports of a dark creature on a black horse.  His half-goblin spies had shivered as they spoke of him, although they could give no clear report of his face and figure.

"Draped all in black he was, master, with a hood that hung far over his face.  Couldn't get no glimpse of his countenance."

The only thing that his spies were sure of was that the stranger had ridden up from the south.  That, and his uncanny appearance, had convinced Saruman that he hailed from Mordor.  Had this emissary of Sauron been the one who had seized Mithrandir?  Likely enough he was.  Saruman had enough respect for Mithrandir's faculties to know that he was unlikely to have been captured by any ordinary foe.

Saruman made his decision.  He would see that Mithrandir was snatched away from his captor.  Saruman suspected that Mithrandir knew something of great import, and he did not want his knowledge to fall into the hands of Sauron.  No, he wanted Mithrandir's knowledge to fall into _his_ hands.  He would not stand by and permit that wretched wizard to be captured and tortured by anyone other than himself.

"I will be most happy to aid you, Lord Elrond," Saruman said smoothly, "for I am as much concerned as you in seeing that Mithrandir is not carried off by enemies from the south."

The faces of the Elves shone with gratitude.

"Oh, thank you, Lord Saruman, thank you!" said Elrond, almost effusive in his relief.

"No thanks are necessary," replied Saruman.  "The pleasure will be all mine."


	8. An Escape By Water

_Athena Diagon Cat: _He won't be doomed if Legolas has anything to say about it! 

_Karri: _"'Tis but a Nazgul"?  Oh, _that's_ encouraging! 

_Coolio: _One of these stories I've got to do something really nasty to Saruman.

_Silver badger: _So you think I'm tricky, eh?  Hang on!

_Grumpy: _If it's not one thing, it's another, right?

_Pallas Analise: _"Cunning and smoothness."  Yes, that about says it all for Saruman.

_Dragonfly: _Yes, a Nazgûl would be a pretty good bet.

_Joee: _You will find the answer to your question in this very installment.

            It was a forlorn group that rode to edge of the forest of Mirkwood and bade farewell to its escort of Beorn's horses.  Mithrandir had been taken.  Elrond, Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir, and Thoron had gone in search of him.  What was to have been a journey toward a joyous reunion had become a dreary trek of riders bearing ill news.  Thranduil, however, did not yet know this when he summoned Legolas and Tawarmaenas to his presence chamber, where he was going over matters of state with Gilglîr.

            "Legolas, I have just received word from the border that your friends approach."

            "So soon," exclaimed Legolas.  "I would have thought that they would have lingered longer in Lothlórien.  But perhaps," he said, a broad smile spreading across his face, "instead of spending time with Haldir and his brothers in Lórien, they have brought them along.  That would be grand, for I should be glad to see them all!" He turned to his cousin.  "Tawarmaenas, you know how much fun Haldir and his brothers can be."

            "Oh, yes," Tawarmaenas agreed enthusiastically.  "I hope you are right, Legolas.  We shall have such times if they come along!"

            Thranduil smiled as broadly as his son and nephew, even though he expected that 'such times' might involve a considerable amount of mischief.  That latter thought could not lessen the pleasure he felt at seeing both Legolas and Tawarmaenas so happy.  At that moment a servant arrived at the door of the chamber.

            "My Lord."

            Thranduil motioned for him to enter.

            "My Lord, the visitors have sent ahead a messenger."

"Ah, good.  Send him in."

The servant went to the door and beckoned to someone.  Celaithand stepped within.  Legolas smiled at him but was a little disconcerted when his friend spared him only the briefest of looks before bowing to Thranduil and handing the king a scroll.  Thranduil read it and paled.

"Not Mithrandir!"

"Mithrandir?  Has he joined the company, Ada?"

"_Had_ joined the company, my son.  He has been taken.  My son!"

Thranduil seized the young Elf by the shoulders as he suddenly swayed.

"Tawarmaenas, fetch that goblet over yonder!"

Thranduil seated Legolas upon his own throne and forced him to drink a little water.  He knew that one reason Legolas had been at such ease over the last several months was because he knew that his other 'family' had not been lost to him and would indeed be restored to him at some point.  It would be devastating to the young Elf if this surety were to be snatched away from him.

"Legolas, this letter says that Mithrandir was taken, not slain.  There is hope."

Legolas made to arise, but Thranduil firmly held him down.

"Nay, Legolas.  You look pale."

"Ada, loose me!  I must go at once!"

"Go?  Go where?"

"In search of Mithrandir!"

"You will do no such thing!  Any foe who could outwit Mithrandir must be a fearsome one indeed.  You will not venture yourself against such an enemy!"

Gilglîr had picked up the letter and was carefully perusing it.

"Legolas, you must listen to your father.  It seems that Celeborn and Galadriel have sent out many scouts.  Moreover, your foster-father and brothers, as well as Glorfindel and Thoron, have joined the search.  There is nothing that you can do that has not already been done."

"Nevertheless," said Legolas stubbornly, "I must search for him.  He saved my life, for I am sure I should have perished of hunger and cold in the forest of Imladris if he had not found me when he did.  And that was only the start of his kindness toward me.  I must leave at once."

Legolas succeeded in momentarily evading his father and would have made for the door.  Recovering quickly, however, Thranduil seized his wrist and prevented him.  Legolas looked at him in shock.  The only one who had ever seized him by the wrist was Saruman.  This was not to be borne!  He glared at his father.  Thranduil loosed his wrist, but he would not back down.

"You-are-not-leaving."

"Yes-I-am!"

"I am your father."

"I am of age!"

"I am your King!"

"I will go into exile.  I will not be your subject if I do!"

Gilglîr tried to interject, but things had already gone too far.

"If you are not my subject, then you are an interloper in my kingdom and I shall cast you into the dungeon as if you were a trespassing Dwarf!"

"Uncle," cried Tawarmaenas, "you cannot mean that!"

Father and son, equally pale, both breathing hard, glared at each other.

"No," said Thranduil at last.  "Of course I would not cast my own son into the dungeon.  But neither will I permit him to rush heedlessly and unnecessarily into danger.  Guards!"

Several Elves materialized from outside the chamber.

"Escort my son to his room.  He is not to leave that place unless he is in the company of myself, my nephew, or my seneschal."

"Yes, my Lord," replied the captain of the guards.  He turned to Legolas and politely gestured for him to precede him.  With one last furious look at his father, Legolas strode angrily from the room, Tawarmaenas trailing helplessly after.

Once they were gone, Gilglîr could no longer restrain himself.

"Thranduil, you fool!  Do you want to lose your son a second time!?"

"But, Gilglîr, I am trying to _not_ lose him!"

"Oh, and you think threatening to toss him in the dungeon will accomplish your goal?"

"I was frightened and angry, Gilglîr.  I would never do that."

"I hope Legolas believes that you wouldn't, but I am not so sure he has such confidence in your intentions.  I would fancy that your grabbing him by the wrist has introduced some doubt into his mind."

"What am I to do?" asked Thranduil miserably.  "I don't want to lose him."

"That is not altogether your decision to make, Thranduil.  Many fathers have lost their sons in the defense of their land."

 Thranduil tried again.

"But going off to rescue Mithrandir would not be defending the land.  Legolas would do better to stay at home and look after the borders."

"You are taking a very narrow view of 'defending the land'," retorted Gilglîr, "and you know it.  Mithrandir has labored on our behalf for centuries, and you requite him very poorly if you do not take some measures on his behalf."

"Some measures," said Thranduil eagerly, sensing an escape from his dilemma.  "That does not necessarily mean sending out my son."

"No, it does not.  Perhaps you could placate Legolas if you assured him that you will send out your own Elves to join in the search."

"Yes," said Thranduil, overjoyed at the thought that there might be a way to mend the sudden rift between him and Legolas.  "I will tell him at once."

"No, I suggest that you wait until morning.  I am not sure that a rational conversation would be possible at the moment."

"Very well," agreed Thranduil.  "I will leave things as they are for the time being."

Leaving things as they were, however, was a risky proposition, for as King and Seneschal spoke, Legolas was pacing his chamber, racking his brains for a means of escape.   His usual method for absconding was not available to him, for in these dark times the family rooms were meant to be the most secure ones in the Great Hall and thus lacked window.  He would have to come up with some stratagem that would get him past the guards.

Tawarmaenas stood anxiously watching him.  At last Legolas ceased his pacing and gave Tawarmaenas an appraising look.

"Cousin, would you do something for me?"

Tawarmaenas was instantly on the alert.

"What would you have me do?" he said cautiously.

"Fetch my weapons from the armory."

"You don't mean to battle your way out!" exclaimed Tawarmaenas in alarm.

"Indeed I do not!  No, I want you to take my weapons to the oak tree next the spring that is all hollow inside, the one where you hid yourself and fell asleep once when we played hide and seek as elflings.  You remember, don't you?"

"Aye," grinned Tawarmaenas.  "I had stopped the opening with leaf litter so cleverly that you could not find me.  I waited and waited and at last dozed off.  'Twas Gilglîr who found me at last when you went to him crying that I must have been eaten by a wolf or a spider!"

Legolas grinned, too, but then he briskly returned to the matter at hand.

"After you have hidden my weapons in the tree, fetch my horse.  You needn't tie him to the tree.  He will come when I summon him.  In fact, it would be better if you didn't tie him.  Someone might see him and wonder at his being there.  Tell him to hide himself until I call him."

"But, Legolas," said Tawarmaenas, "what good will all this do?  You know you won't be allowed to leave the Great Hall.  Your father will have sent word to the Door Warden by now."

"I can leave my chamber if I am with you."

"Aye, but even with me, you will not get out of the Hall itself."

"I don't mean to try to get out by the door."

"How then?"

"Leave that to me.  Just do as I ask, and then return here."

Tawarmaenas still hesitated.

"I should be going against the King if I helped you."

"True, but you should be going against the Prince if you don't."

"A King outranks a Prince."

"There is no King in this room at the present.  Here, I am of the highest rank.  Tell my father that when he questions you—and make sure Gilglîr is there!  He will second you."

Tawarmaenas shook his head doubtfully.

Legolas had one more argument.

"Tawarmaenas, I _am_ going to escape.  Consider this: if you do not help me, I shall be ill-provisioned.  Which would you prefer: that I escape with horse and weapons, or that I wander the wild on foot and with no way to defend myself?

Tawarmaenas sighed.  He was not unwilling to help his cousin escape, but he thought Legolas' plan unlikely to succeed.  Nevertheless, he now yielded and went forth to perform his part in the enterprise, returning shortly thereafter to report that all was in readiness.

"Good," exclaimed Legolas.  "Now you must escort me to the lading dock where the barrels are off-loaded."

"That is part of the wine cellar.  You have need of wine to make your escape?"

"You'll see," said Legolas, his eyes dancing.

The guards gave them a hard look as they passed, but the King had clearly said that the Prince could leave his chamber in the company of his cousin.  Once clear of the guards, the two young Elves hastened to the lading dock.  Tawarmaenas went in first to make sure that no one was about.  When he was sure that all was safe, he summoned his cousin.

"Well," said Tawarmaenas, once Legolas had joined him, "here we are, and here we shall stay unless you can pass through stone walls."

"I can't do that," said Legolas, "but I can swim."

"Swim?"

"Aye, swim.  Mithrandir told me that a party of Dwarves once escaped the Great Hall by floating out the passage through which the barrels enter and exit the lading dock.  The stone walls do not come all the way down, you see, else the water could not flow through here."

"But that opening is blocked by a portcullis."

"Of course, else it would not be secure from enemies.  But a portcullis can be raised and lowered, can it not?"

"Yes," replied Tawarmaenas, feeling a little silly.  "So we are to raise the portcullis, and you are to swim clear of the Great Hall.  I wish you had told me.  I would have hidden some dry clothes and boots with your weapons."

"Oh, that won't be necessary," said Legolas, who, after helping Tawarmaenas raise the portcullis, stripped off his boots, tunic, and leggings and made them up into a bundle.  Then he lowered himself into the water, careful to hold his bundle well above the water.

"After I am through," he called to Tawarmaenas, "lower the portcullis so that no one knows that someone has gotten out.  That will delay any search somewhat.  And do not go near my chamber, for the guards will notice at once that you left with me but came back alone.  When I am missed, try to dissemble as long as you can as to my whereabouts so that at first they waste time searching the Great Hall itself.  My father will probably think that I am merely hiding myself out of resentment."

Tawarmaenas nodded glumly.

"And Tawarmaenas."

"Aye, cousin."

"I am sorry for the trouble I am causing you.  Remember to tell my father that I ordered you to help me.  Remind him that he has always said that the chain of command must be respected!"

"I don't mind, Legolas," Tawarmaenas called back.  "I only hope that _you_ do not get into trouble.  You had better not forget that I do _not_ want to be king!  I shall be angry else!"

Legolas laughed and let go his hold on the lading dock, making for the opening.  As he reached it, he briefly raised his free hand just long enough to wave, and then he was gone.


	9. Diverging Interests

_Farflung__: _Yes, both father and son have miscalculated and misread each other.  The 'honeymoon' of the reunion is over.  Remarkable, really, that the halcyon period lasted as long as it did.

_Melissa: _Yes, Thranduil's reaction will be a mix of fury and fear—but more the latter because he genuinely loves both his son and his nephew.

_Pallas Analise: _I'm glad you found the interactions convincing even though they were not the ones you expected.

_Joee__: _True, Legolas simply could not be expected to remain quietly at the Great Hall, even if he _should_ have.

_Athena Diagon Cat: _The semester has drawn to a close, so I've had a little more time for writing than usual.  That's why I've been posting so frequently.  It won't last.  *~*  Yes, I do compress distances—and the time frame as well.  Poetic license, if you will.

_Dragonfly: _No, it was not wise for Legolas to run off like that.  For all his experiences, he is still is some ways a very young Elf.

            Elrond and Glorfindel were within, in earnest discussion with Saruman, whilst Elladan, Elrohir, and Thoron waited impatiently upon the steps of Orthanc.

            "I want to be out searching for Mithrandir," complained Elrohir.  "I do not understand what delays us."

            Patiently, and not for the first time, Thoron explained.

            "Saruman wants us to ride south, to carry a message to the Rohirrim.  Your father and Glorfindel want to remain here, in Fangorn, to participate in the ambush that Saruman is devising."

            "Why cannot Saruman send some of his own servants as messengers?"

            "He says he has none on hand who are fluent in the Common Speech."

            "Huh," scoffed Elladan.  "What do they speak then—Quenya!?"

            The three young Elves laughed at the thought of Saruman's Man servants going about their daily chores speaking in the High Elven tongue.  Then Thoron sobered.

            "I wonder," he said softly, "what they do speak, if not the language common to the Men of the West."

            "And I wonder," added Elrohir, "where these servants _are_.  We have scarcely seen anyone other than Saruman since our arrival at Isengard."

            "Perhaps they are out on patrol," suggested Thoron.

            "I suppose," agreed Elrohir, "but do you not find it odd that a Lord of such high rank should dwell in this grand fortress with only a handful of servants at his beck and call?"

            "He is a wizard, Elrohir," Thoron pointed out.  "The Istari are different from you and me.  Mayhap if he desires a dish, all he need say is 'make it so', and, poof, a meal is laid out for him."

            "You've gone altogether potty, Thoron," chortled Elrohir, "either that, or you've been reading those books Legolas is so fond of, those ones in which Men rely upon magic powders and spells to disappear and reappear."

            "But he is a wizard," said Thoron stubbornly.  "That's got to mean something, doesn't it?  What's the good of being a wizard if you have got to cook your supper in the same fashion as any other creature who walks upon two legs?"

            "Except Orcs," Elladan observed, "who do not cook their suppers at all!"

            "Look you," said Elrohir, "have you ever seen Mithrandir wave his staff over a deer in order to dress it?"

            "No," retorted Thoron, "because whenever you or I or anyone else is about, _we_ are the ones who have to dress the deer!"

            "Now _that's_ magic for you," observed Elrohir slyly.  "You have proved your case, Thoron.  The Istari _are_ different from you and me."

            Thoron had to laugh at the turn that the argument had taken.

            "Oh, very well, Elrohir.  I yield to your superior intellect."

            Elladan snorted.

            "Superior intellect, indeed!  I am laughing at your superior intellect."

            "Oh, and why?"

"Because, for all your chattering, you still haven't come up with an adequate explanation to account for the scarcity of servants.  No, nor you, Thoron!"

 Elladan had spoken in a light-hearted fashion, but the other two Elves quieted.  As they sat silently, Elrohir suddenly shivered.

"Are you cold, Elrohir?" Thoron asked.

"No—yes—a little."

"I'm cold, too," said Elladan softly.

The three Elves drew closer to one another and stared about at the grim walls that surrounded the fortress of Isengard.

Whilst this debate had been taking place, Saruman had been unrelenting in his attempts to persuade Elrond to ride further south and to take all his companions with him.  It was the matter of the servants that troubled him.  As soon as the wizard had received word of the approach of the Elves, he had of course sent his Orcs and half-goblins into hiding.  He intended, however, to use these creatures against the interloper from Mordor, and he couldn't very well do so if Elrond and the others were present.  Hence the Istar's eagerness that the Elves should depart at once.

"There is always the possibility," he had pointed out, "that Mithrandir and his captor have already slipped past Fangorn.  If so, the Men of Rohan needs must be brought into the hunt."

At first, Elrond had strenuously resisted Saruman's suggestion that the Elves be the ones to carry the news to the Rohirrim.  He thought it unlikely that captor and prisoner had yet made it this far south—nothing of the sort had been reported to Saruman—and it was his desire to be on hand when his friend's rescue was effected.  Glorfindel was of the same mind.

"I understand your feelings, my friends," Saruman had assured them, "but would it not be wise to put personal preferences aside in a matter such as this?  You should not like to find that Mithrandir had been dragged helpless across the plains of Rohan because you had tarried here in vain hopes of intercepting our missing friend and his captor.  I am sure you would not!  Nay, you must take advantage of your friendship with the Rohirrim and your ability to speak one tongue in common."

At last Elrond relented somewhat and proposed sending the younger Elves.  Saruman looked at him gravely.

"Would that be wise, my friend?  In these perilous times, would it not be better if a group of five ventured forth rather than a group of three?  I am sure you would not wish to receive word that it is now your own sons who have been seized!"

In the end, Elrond yielded, albeit reluctantly.  He and his companions would ride south at once and inform the Rohirrim of what had transpired.  If the marauder and his victim were anywhere within the land of Rohan, they would be found out, for the Riders would search every inch of their territory.

When Elladan, Elrohir, and Thoron were informed, they were disappointed that they were not to participate in the ambush, but they could not help but be happy that they were departing from Isengard.  Thus it was that two unwilling and three willing Elves rode rapidly out from Isengard.

As soon as they were out of sight, Saruman ordered that his Orcs and half-goblins to return to their stations.  From a dozen hidden crevasses, these creatures crawled forth.  Saruman drew aside the half-goblins—they had been bred to be leaders, after a fashion—and he quickly explained what they must do.

"I want every available archer hidden on the western border of Fangorn.  No doubt a fell creature such as this one will favor journeying in the dark and gloomy margins of the forest over riding in the sunshine on an open plain.  He will draw nigh, I am sure.  Tell the archers to aim for his mount, for I suspect that the creature himself may not be brought down by arrows.  And have a care that your archers do not shoot the creature's prisoner.  I want him alive—and unharmed!  No playing with him, do you understand!?  But do not untie him if he is bound—as he no doubt is.  And if his eyes are covered, leave the blindfold be as well.  Bring him to me exactly as you find him."

The half-goblins scurried off and, marshalling the Orcs, made for the western border of Fangorn, taking up positions from whence, well hidden, they could peer across the plain.

Their wait would be a long one, for Gandalf and his captor had not been making good time.  The wizard could not cease shivering and sweating, and his captor had been forced to make camp several times.  On the latest occasion, he had loosed Gandalf's feet but had bound him with his back to a tree.  Gandalf began to feel comfortably warm, and he suspected that his captor was not near.  He began to struggle again to stretch the ropes that secured his wrists.  At length, however, he once more sat perfectly still, for the air grew cold and he knew that his captor approached.  He heard no footsteps, but suddenly, and not too far off, something heavy was dropped upon the ground.  He heard the sound of a blade being drawn from its sheath, and then he smelled blood.

"Ah," he thought, "my friend has gone hunting and is now dressing some animal or another—at least, I _hope_ it is an animal.  The alternative is too dreadful to contemplate."

By and by the wizard smelled smoke and then heard the sizzle of meat cooking upon the spit.  In spite of his plight, he could not help but appreciate the savory odor that soon arose—venison, he was quite sure.  That was a great relief to his mind, for he was sure his captor would be vexed if he refused to eat, but he had meant to so refuse if there were any doubts regarding the nature of the meat.

As it was, Gandalf was right.  Venison.  To allow him to eat, his captor released the ropes that held him to the tree, and then, the Valar be praised, he untied the wizard's wrists as well.  Even though his hands were free, Gandalf did not try to pull off his blindfold.  He knew from the coldness of the air that his captor stood before him as he ate, and he had no desire to provoke him.  Still, he felt better after eating—his captor let him eat his fill—and his spirits rose.  The only thing that troubled him was that he had managed to loosen the ropes around his wrist slightly, but now his captor would rebind him as tightly as ever.  All his labor had been for naught.  Still, what was it Men said?  Where's there's life, there's hope?  Well, he now felt very much alive.  It was a long way to Mordor, and he would contrive to escape long before they neared that land.

After the wizard had eaten, his captor did not go so far as to allow him to 'step behind a tree', but Gandalf did take the opportunity to relieve himself of a problem that had grown rather pressing.  "Ah," he sighed, "a few more hours of bouncing about upon a horse, and I am sure I would have disgraced myself like an elfling just put into leggings and not quite adjusted to those new garments.  Wonder what my friend here would have made of _that_.  Probably would not have perturbed him in the least.  Has nerves of ice, that one.  Hah hah."

Gandalf's humorous reflections were now peremptorily interrupted by said individual, who pushed his prisoner down to the ground, rebound his wrists behind his back, tied his feet, and checked to see that his blindfold was secure.  Gandalf sighed.

"You are thorough, I'll give you that," he muttered.

The wizard then froze, so to speak, as he felt his captor pause beside him.  Apparently, however, the creature did not want to bring on any further delays because no icy pains shot through the body of the prisoner.  Instead, the wizard felt the blanket descend upon his body.  "My tongue will be the death of me," muttered Gandalf as his captor moved away.  "Galadriel said something to that effect sometime.  Should have listened to her.  Well, well, nothing to be done about it now.  Best sleep.  Need to keep up my strength."  With that, the wizard, who himself could be said to have 'nerves of ice', allowed himself to drift into dreams, which if not altogether pleasant, were at least less nightmarish than the situation in which he found himself during his waking hours.

Whilst Gandalf was taking his reasonably comfortable rest, at the Great Hall, on the other hand, no one was getting any rest at all.

"Search again," Thranduil was roaring at Gilglîr.  "I want every inch of the Hall o'erlooked.  Turn out the wardrobes!  Rip the linen from the beds!  Empty the larders!  Up-end every barrel, every chest!  I want my son, and I want him _now_!"

Legolas' absence had been discovered upon the arrival of the guests from Rivendell, for Legolas had been summoned to greet them.  The servant sent to fetch him had been told by the guards that the Prince had left his chamber in the company of his cousin and had not yet returned.  As the messenger had just come from the presence chamber, where Tawarmaenas stood beside his uncle exchanging pleasantries with the visitors, it was immediately and inescapably apparent to the messenger that Legolas was no longer in the company of his cousin.  Alarmed, the Elf hastened back to inform the King.  Meanwhile, as soon as the servant had left on his errand, Tawarmaenas had begun sidling toward the guests from Imladris.  By the time the servant burst into the presence chamber, Tawarmaenas was safely in the middle of the visitors, standing behind Erestor and between Estel and Celaithand.

"Left his room with Tawarmaenas but is not with him now?"  Keeping his anger in check, Thranduil looked about the room, at last spying his nephew where he stood amongst the visitors.

"Tawarmaenas!"

"Yes, Uncle."

"Where is Legolas?"

"I last saw him in the wine cellar."

"The wine cellar?"

"Aye, Uncle, the wine cellar."

Thranduil relaxed a little.

"Well, it is not the best way to deal with life's vexations, but Legolas will not be the first Elf to have drowned his sorrow in wine—and uncommonly good wine, too."  Thranduil turned to the servant.  "Go to the wine cellar and fetch my son here.  Carry him if you have to.  It will serve him right if he has to appear before his friends in a disheveled state!"

The servant bowed and hurried off.  Of course, he returned before too long to report that Legolas was not in fact in the wine cellar.

"Tawarmaenas!"

"Yes, Uncle."

"Do you know where Legolas is?"

"No, Uncle."

Like several young Elves before him, Tawarmaenas was of course telling the truth.  He now did not know where Legolas was, at least not to an exactitude.  It was at this point that an exasperated Thranduil ordered the general search of the Great Hall that had proved to be so fruitless. In a rage, Thranduil was now ordering a second search of the Hall.  Before it could take place, however, Erestor thought it might be best if he offered the King a word of advice—diplomatically, of course.

"Ahem, your pardon, my Lord, but is it possible that Legolas is not in Hall?"

"How could he not be?  The Door Warden had strict instructions not to let him set foot outside the Hall."

"Again, your pardon, my Lord.  I do not wish to be presumptuous, but, as I was Legolas' tutor for centuries, I do have some experience in these matters.  You must permit me to say that, if anyone could find a way to escape from a guarded hall, that anyone would be Legolas."

Thranduil considered Erestor's words for a moment and then turned his gaze upon Tawarmaenas, who trembled.

"Tawarmaenas son of Thalioncrist," thundered the King.  This did not bode well. As every young Elf knows—aye! and every man-child, too—it is not good to be called out by one's full name.

"Um, yes, Uncle."

"When you last saw Legolas, was it his intention to remain in the wine cellar?"

This questions required an unambiguous 'yes' or 'no' and thus could not be evaded.

"No, Uncle."

"Where did he plan to go next—and I mean at that instant and not at some hypothetical point!?"

This question, too, could not be evaded.

"He planned to swim out the opening by which the barrels are brought to and fro the lading dock."

An awful pause.

"And did he?"

"Yes, Uncle—but do not fear!  He has his weapons and his horse.  He will come to no harm!"

"Gilglîr!"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Every Elf who can be spared from guard duty is to be horsed within the hour!"

"Aye, my Lord.  'Twill be done."

"I myself will ride.  Have my horse prepared.'

"But, my Lord, you have guests."

"It seems to me," said Thranduil sourly, "that Tawarmaenas has insinuated himself into the 'heart' of our guests.  He shall entertain them well enough, I am sure.  Eh, Tawarmaenas, can I count upon you for that?"

"Yes, Uncle, I shall take very good care of our guests," replied Tawarmaenas meekly.

"See that you do, or I shall 'take very good care' of _you_!"

Thranduil swept from the room, followed by Gilglîr.  The latter, however, paused a moment to wink at Tawarmaenas, who ventured a small smile in return.

When the King was gone, everyone in the room exhaled, not excepting Erestor.

"Well," said that Elf, "I think under some circumstances I had rather face an Orc than the King of Greenwood!"

"Oh, he is really quite nice," declared Tawarmaenas loyally.  "'Tis true he has a royal temper—but I suppose that is alright, as he _is_ a king."

Erestor smiled at the young Elf.

"I understand you are being trained to be Steward.  You will be a good one, for it is plain that you care for naught but the welfare of others, including that of a King who can be fierce with you!"

"Thank you, my Lord."

"Oh, you needn't 'my Lord' me.  Legolas certainly doesn't!  But come.  Tell me, what led Legolas to give Thranduil the slip?  Would I be right in guessing that it has something to do with Mithrandir?"

"Yes, my Lor—Erestor.  Even though he was told that Elves were searching for Mithrandir, he insisted on going out himself."

Erestor shook his head.

"Rash, Legolas.  Too Rash," he muttered.  "Well, we shall have to trust that Thranduil's Elves will retrieve him, or at least come in time to second him if he gets into trouble.  Has he had much of a head start?"

"Only a few hours.  But his horse is fast.  I don't think there is a one faster."

Erestor sighed.

"Would that it were not so!  No Elf should be gallivanting about on his own in these latter days."

"The Rangers go about on their own," piped up Estel, who had been quietly watching and listening to all that transpired.  "And someday _I _shall be a Ranger and shall do so myself!"

"Ah," said Tawarmaenas, "you must be Estel. Legolas has told me many tales of your exploits.  Perchance you have brought your dog?"

"No," scowled Estel.  "I was not allowed.  And if Gwaurant had been along," he added, shooting a hard glance at Erestor, "I am sure he would have barked, and then Mithrandir would not have been taken."

"You may be right," said Erestor thoughtfully, "although, if Mithrandir did not sense that a foe was near, then mayhap your dog would not have been able to either."

"Legolas would have known," said Estel.   "The trees would have told him."

"That is undoubtedly true," replied Erestor.  Legolas has an ability to sense danger that is uncanny even by Elven standards, and it is to be hoped that the trees and allied creatures will not let anyone creep up on him.  Which is a comforting thought, now that he is out there on his own."  

What Erestor did not realize, however, is that by now Legolas was in fact no longer 'on his own'.


	10. Snake Eyes

_Gilraen: _You are right.  The 'Rash, Legolas, too rash' comes straight from _The_ _Pirates of the __Caribbean__.  As _for hurting Legolas, in my stories I never do any_ permanent _damage to him.  Will that do?  ^_^

_A Sly Fan: _Um, do you mean what do I mean by the title or what do I mean by the final paragraph?  Or do you mean what do I mean by something else?  *~*

_Silver badger: _The story that launched this whole series was "The Nameless One," which is still posted under my pen name of _Elf Eye_.  In that story Legolas, under the name Anomen, is brought to Isengard by Treebeard, who found him hiding from Orcs in Fangorn Forest.  As we know, Saruman views anyone who draws near as a potential tool and promptly tries to corrupt Anomen.  At one point he carries Anomen to the top of Orthanc, and he grabs hold of Anomen's wrist under the guise of helping him keep his balance.  Anomen does not react well to the feeling of being trapped.  So grabbing Anomen's wrist was absolutely the last thing Thranduil should have done.  Unfortunately, the King had no way of knowing this.

_Joee: _Horrible place to leave you, eh?  Yes, I do seem to be getting the hang of the cliffie ending, don't I?  Mwah hah hah!

_Dragonfly:_ Well, if it's any consolation, you won't find out what happened to Legolas in this installment.

_Athena Diagon Cat: _Sorry, I'm not going to answer that question just yet.  It's the sadistic streak in me coming out.

_Karri: _Yes, considering what he _could_ have done to Tawarmaenas, I don't think Thranduil did half badly.

"Elrond," said Glorfindel when they paused to rest the horses, "once we deliver our message to the Rohirrim, will we join the Riders in searching Rohan for any trace of Mithrandir and his captor?"

Elrond shook his head.

"No, we will hasten back north as fast as we may.  I am convinced that captor and captive did not precede us to Fangorn.  If we hurry, we may yet be present for Mithrandir's rescue.  I am sure Saruman's servants must be good fighters, else he would not retain them, but I would feel much more secure if I knew that my sword and yours were raised in defense of our friend."

 Glorfindel nodded.

"I agree.  I do not like leaving matters up to Saruman, worthy wizard though he may be.  Even though Mithrandir and the Lord of Isengard are of the same order, it is we who are Mithrandir's friends."

"You are right," said Elrond, wondering at the fact that he had never realized this before.  Mithrandir had the greatest of respect for the White Wizard and went often to him for counsel, but it was the Elves to whom Mithrandir gravitated for comfort and mirth.  The Elves and the Hobbits.  Even among Men and Dwarves Mithrandir was more at ease than he was in the presence of Saruman the Wise.  The White Wizard had been gifted with cunning, thought Elrond, but not with liveliness and joy.  No doubt this was why he was the Lord of Isengard and not the lesser wizard.  Mithrandir could have commanded no Man after the fashion of Saruman.  Yet Men and Elves, Dwarves and Hobbits, would obey him.  He was a leader who commanded no followers yet had many.

Elrond shook off his musings.  The horses were rested; it was time to mount up once more and ride relentlessly toward the Gap of Rohan, where they were sure to meet Riders patrolling that region against any trespassers.

            A few more hours of riding and they found what they sought.  Riders galloped across the plain toward them, spears lowered.  As the Riders drew near, however, their leader perceived that the strangers were Elves and he raised his hand, slowing his troop.  Cantering now, and with spears in their rests, the Rohirrim rode up to the Elves.  Elrond hailed the leader as he drew near.

            "Thengel!  Well met!  Well met, indeed!"

            "Welcome, Elrond.  'Tis not often you ride out from Rivendell."

"Great need compels me.  Mithrandir has been seized and may be carried south—may have already been carried south."

"It needs must have been a fell creature to have gotten the better of the Grey Pilgrim."

"Aye, no doubt.  Have you seen aught of such a creature?"

"A dark horseman on a black steed rode through here not so long ago.  He came from the south.  Our horses grew wild as he neared, and we could scarce manage them.  He spurned our challenges and evaded us.  Rohirrim from all corners of the land have been raised against his return.  By the horn of Helm Hammerhand, he shall not be allowed to pass back this way bearing any prisoner."

"And he has not yet made the attempt?"

"No sign of him has been seen since he first rode through, and it is impossible that he should have been missed.  Behind every hillock a Rider has been lying in wait.  As you yourself have seen, your party was challenged as soon as it had entered our territory."

Elrond nodded, grateful for the vigilance of the Rohirrim.

"Your words give me hope, Thengel.  A force lies at the edge of Fangorn Forest waiting to ambush the fell creature, but should he evade them, he will not escape the Riders of Rohan!  We will return north at once bearing this good news."

Elrond respectfully saluted the Rohan leader, who bowed in return.   Then the Elf and his companions wheeled their horses about and rode for the north at a pace only a little slower than the one they had maintained as they galloped south.

The pace of captor and captive had meanwhile slowed to the proverbial crawl.  Gandalf had recovered both his strength and his spirits and had once again begun to exercise his tongue.  He did not do so heedlessly, however.  He was mindful of three facts.  First, his captor did not want to kill him—that was to come later, he was sure, and at another's hands.  Be that as it may, since the creature did not want to kill him, he would only go so far toward injuring him.  He would hurt the wizard, but he would not slay him.  Second, if the wizard were hurt or ill, they could not travel as quickly as if he were whole.  Third, if they could not travel quickly and the journey were to be dragged out, there would be more opportunities for Gandalf to either escape or be rescued.  Given these facts, Gandalf had decided that it would be worth his while to provoke his captor into striking out at him.  And so he had become quite chatty as they rode along—with predictable consequences.

Just at the moment the wizard was writhing about on the ground trying to congratulate himself upon the success of his plan.

"Must have done well," he gasped to himself, "for he certainly unleashed his powers upon me that time.  Didn't like being told that he was a cold fish, I gather.  Brrrr.  Must have ice water in his veins.  Yes, that's it.  Ice water."

Fittingly, and unfortunately, at this moment his captor chose to 'throw ice water' upon the wizard's plans.  The temperature plummeted as the creature knelt by Gandalf and forced a gag into his mouth.  That put a stop to both his mouth and his stratagem.

Still, Gandalf had gained himself some time, for his captor did make camp, briefly removing the gag from the wizard's mouth so that he might take some sustenance and then thoroughly trussing him for the night.  Mouth stopped, wrists and ankles tied, the only thing Gandalf could make use of was his mind.

"I cannot see my captor," he mused, "but I always know where he is because he carries winter with him wherever he goes."

Gandalf lay still a very long time, and then he groaned into his gag and thrashed a little, as if in great pain.  As a result he ended up just a trifle further from the coldness that emanated from his captor.  The creature did not come to check upon him.  Apparently the wizard had not moved far enough to arouse his suspicion.  Gandalf groaned and tossed a little more.  Still no reaction from his captor.  Now Gandalf lay very still, as if he at last slumbered.  He gradually grew warm.  Did his captor ever slumber, he wondered.  And if he did so, did he no longer radiate, as it were, an icy chill.  Or was he gone—hunting, perhaps?  Gandalf had not heard any footfalls.  But then he never had.  Nor had he ever heard the sound of his captor eating or drinking.  It was as if his captor, for all his strength, was immaterial and insubstantial.

"He is either asleep or gone," Gandalf decided.

With all his might, the wizard strained at the ropes securing his wrists.  Perhaps because the creature had thought him ill and had been careless, the bonds seemed looser than usual.  Gandalf slipped his hands free and then once again lay very still.  The air about him still felt warm. Cautiously, he raised his hands to his face and pulled off the blindfold.  Looking about, he blanched.  The creature sat facing him.  Gandalf could not see its face, for a hood covered it, but the creature did not move.  Gandalf did not bother about the gag but immediately freed his feet.  He found he could not stand, but carefully he crawled away from his captor.  Once he had put several trees between himself and the creature, he stopped to pull the gag from his mouth and to massage his legs a little.  He winced as the feeling returned to his limbs, but as soon as he could feel them, he pulled himself to his feet and began to limp as rapidly as he could deeper into the forest.  Quite deliberately, he scrambled into the most tangled bramble thickets he could find, for he knew that such vegetation would prevent his former captor from coming after him on his horse.

"I'll deprive him of that advantage at least," he thought grimly.

Suddenly a horrible, high pitched shriek arose from the place whence he had just fled.  Gandalf felt as if his own blood had turned to ice.

"It seems my friend misses me," muttered Gandalf when he had recovered himself a bit.  With that, he struggled even further into the forest, not minding the thorns that were tearing his robe to shreds (and doing considerable damage to his skin as well).  He wouldn't have been quite so urgent at this point if he had known that his captor could not in fact have seen him.  The creature lacked mortal vision and had been relying upon the eyes of his horse, and his horse was now of no use to him.  True, the creature could have smelled him and would have been drawn by his warmth, but Gandalf was far enough away so that the creature could make no use of either odor or body heat.  For the time being, Gandalf was safe.

The wizard was not to know this until later, however, and he continued deeper and deeper into the forest that grew upon the western slopes of the Misty Mountains.

"I wonder how far south I am," he thought.  "If this is Fangorn and I continue to travel south, I would reach Isengard at length.  I should be safe there.  Or would Lórien be nearer?  Should I head somewhat to the north?  Or mayhap I should cross the Misty Mountains and make for Rivendell.  It is summer, so the passage should not be too difficult.  Wish I had my pipe, for I should like to smoke on it.  No!  Drat that pipe.  Shouldn't have been carried off in the first place if it hadn't been for my fondness for pipeweed.  Don't know why I didn't find it odd to feel cold creeping over me, and then to let myself to be knocked upon the head like that!  How could I have thought that uncanny chill to have been a freak of weather?  I shall never hear the end of it from Elrond, I am sure!  Though, just at the moment, I should like to be chaffed by Elrond, for that would put me in his company.  Oh, yes, I should be delighted to see him right now, no matter the cost to my dignity.   Although, given this shredded robe, I have very little dignity left to lose!"

   At that very moment, Elrond and his companions were in sight of Fangorn Forest and much closer to Gandalf than the wizard would have dared hope.  The approach of the Elves had thrown the half-goblins into a panic.  They knew what to do if a fell creature bearing a captive approached.  They were to slay his mount and seize the captive.  But what to do about these five Elves?  The goblins' gut reaction was to riddle them with arrows as they rode up, but had not five Elves been guests of Saruman?  Perchance they were allies of the White Wizard.  If so, shooting them would be a fatal mistake for not only the Elves but also the half-goblins.  Fortunately for the latter, Saruman, impatient for news, had chosen that moment to sally forth from his stronghold.

"Fall back," he hissed to the half-goblins, "you and the Orcs both.  Send up the Men in your stead.  See that they are equipped with swords and bows so that they may pass for warriors."

By the time Elrond, Glorfindel, and the others had galloped up, no sign remained of the half-goblins and their Orc underlings.

"You have returned," said Saruman, somewhat unnecessarily.

"Aye," answered Elrond, "and we bring good news.  Mithrandir has surely not been carried across Rohan.  He is yet to the north of us, and so we have good hopes of recovering him."

"Ah, that is good," said Saruman.  He was in fact honest when he said that, for he truly did not wish Gandalf to fall into the hands of the Dark Lord—although not for any love that he bore the Grey Wizard.

"We hastened back so that we could assist in his rescue," Elrond continued.

"Excellent," replied Saruman, this time lying, of course.  He would have much rather relied upon his half-goblins and Orcs, for he knew they were better fighters than his Men.  With the Elves as witnesses, however, he had no choice but to make use of his inferior servants.  Moreover, he would now have no opportunity to drug and question a blindfolded Mithrandir before returning him to his friends.  Well, he would have to make the best of the situation.  The Elves would no doubt be grateful for his aid.  He must make use of their gratitude; no doubt word of the part he would play in Mithrandir's rescue would come to the ears of Galadriel and perhaps lull her suspicions.  Mayhap the tale would even permit him to someday work his magic upon Legolas, who was at least as suspicious as Galadriel, if not more so.  Mithrandir, too, would feel gratitude and would express it in some fashion.  Perhaps, mused Saruman, his gratitude would be such that he might be encouraged to open his heart to his superior and reveal whatever it was that he had hitherto kept hidden—for Saruman was sure that, for all Mithrandir's deference in his presence, the wizard was not telling him all that lay behind his frequent visits to that uncouth land where the little people scrabbled about in the soil.

  "Excellent," said Saruman again.  "Let us discuss where best to position you so that your skills will be used to maximum advantage."

"We wish to take up positions as far north as possible," Glorfindel said promptly, "so that we can lead the attack.  Meaning no disrespect, Lord Saruman, but your Men, no matter how experienced, cannot hope to match the fighting prowess of Elves who have engaged in battle for centuries."

"No disrespect taken, Lord Glorfindel," Saruman replied.  "It would be disrespectful on _my_ part to suggest that any Man could be your equal, and I would not deny you the honor of a position in the vanguard."

Privately, Saruman was pleased that the Elves wished to be in the front line.  He had expected that it would be their desire, and it meant that his Men would be less exposed to danger.  He cared not for the lives of his Men, but saw no reason to cast aside tools that were still serviceable.  Let the Elves be noble, and Mordor take them!

Mithrandir, meanwhile, oblivious to the plans that were being laid on his behalf, was still scrambling through the forest.  He had neither heard nor seen any sight of pursuit, and at last, panting, he leaned against a tree.  Birds sang, squirrels chattered, and somewhere near by water splashed in a rill.

"I do believe," he said aloud, "that I have given my friend the slip.  Now if I could just find my way to that rill—I am very thirsty!"

 Before he could take a step, however, someone or something powerful seized him by the back of his robe and lifted him straight off the ground.  Gandalf yelped—a most unwizardly sound, you may be sure.

"A bit tetchy, today, aren't we?"

"You try being bound root and branch for several days, and see how you like it," Gandalf replied angrily.

"Hoooom."  Treebeard raised a mossy eyebrow.  "Bound root and branch.  No doubt that accounts for your extraordinarily disheveled appearance—rough even for you, Mithrandir.  That and your purple garb kept me from recognizing you at first.  Thought you were some enormous purple flower come to life."

"Mauve," said Gandalf huffily.

"What's that?"

"The robe—it's mauve."

"Purple, mauve.  There is hardly enough of it left to make out the color properly.  Would you like me to fetch you some fig leaves?"

"I would not," replied Gandalf with as much dignity as he could muster, which, truth be told, was not much at all.  No boots.  No hat.  No staff.  Hardly any robe.  He truly was a pitiable sight.

"I would appreciate it, however," the wizard went on a little more calmly, "if you would carry me to Isengard.  If I have found you, I cannot be far from that place."

"Your pardon, young Master Mithrandir, but I believe _I_ found _you_."

"Well, well," said Gandalf, something like his usual good humor rapidly returning, "I cannot argue with you there, my old friend."

Treebeard settled the wizard upon one of his shoulders but did not make for Isengard.

"I but lately saw Saruman hastening in the direction of the western border," the Ent explained to the wizard.  "It would be better if I take you there, for it may be that there is no one at Isengard to receive you."

Gandalf willingly assented to this plan, as also to a side excursion to a spring at which he was at last able to quench his thirst.  That being done, the Ent strode rapidly toward the western border, and the Elves were hardly aware of him before he was upon them with his cargo of wizard.

            Elrond was not given to gaping—it was not in keeping with his position as Lord of Imladris—but this was one occasion when he could not keep control of his face.  So gape he did—as did Glorfindel, Elrohir, Elladan, Thoron, and, yes, even Saruman.  Mithrandir could not help but laugh.

            "You are going to get mouthfuls of midges," he teased, "unless you close your mouths forthwith."

            The Elves burst into laughter, but Saruman closed his mouth and ground his teeth.  Now he would get no credit for rescuing Mithrandir.  That meddling tree herder, always getting his roots into everything—ow!  Saruman had bitten down so hard that he had broken a molar.  Tears came to his eyes.  Elrond noticed and was touched.

            "I did not think," the Elf said to himself, "that Saruman was susceptible to much in the way of feelings, but I see I was wrong.  He weeps with joy at finding that Mithrandir has escaped."

            Aloud he said, "It is fortunate that you arrive thus safe, for Saruman was about to venture his Men on your behalf."

            "Was he!?" exclaimed Gandalf.  "How very kind!"

            "Oh," Saruman assured him, "I would have done anything to secure you."

            Gandalf beamed at him.

            "Thank you, Saruman.  I shall remember that."

            Saruman's spirits improved.  He would salvage something out of the situation.  At least he had shown himself willing to rescue Mithrandir, even though his would-be efforts had proved unnecessary.  That would be talked about amongst the Elves no doubt.

            "Come," he said expansively, "you must be weary and hungry, and you are in need of clothes.  Let us away to Isengard so that your needs may be tended to."

            Glorfindel spoke then.

            "What of his captor?  Does he still live?  Is it likely that he may still pass this place?"

            "I doubt," said Gandalf, "that such forces that are at hand will be able to bring him down.  That was a Ringwraith, or I am no wizard."

            All gasped, even Saruman.  This was very bad news indeed, although they did not all have the same reasons for thinking so.

            "He was mounted?" said Elrond.

            "Aye."

            "Then at least he should be discomfited.  His steed should be destroyed."

            "My archers will see to it," Saruman declared.  He did not want Sauron to steal a march on him.  Destroying the horse would force the creature to return to Mordor on foot.  Whatever Sauron had planned, that would force a delay, and Saruman would use the time gained to full advantage, spying out Mithrandir's comings and goings, mayhap winning him over, if that could be managed.  Yes, it would suit his purposes to assail this creature of Mordor, even if he could not slay it outright.

            Having settled that, Elves and wizards set out for Isengard at a slow pace.   Saruman was on foot, and walking beside him was Elrond, who had insisted that Gandalf ride upon his horse.  Gandalf had gladly accepted Elrond's mount, as well as the offer of the elf-lord's cloak.  The wizard was also well supplied with as much lembas as he could stomach, which turned out to be quite a number of the wafers.

As they journeyed, Saruman passed the time ingratiating himself with Elrond, as he had once tried to do with Legolas.  He inquired minutely after the doings of all in Elrond's household, not even excepting the human fosterling whom Saruman knew to be living there.  Indeed, Saruman had lately become curious about this boy, who had twice thwarted his plans, once in the matter of Legolas, and again in the case of Erestor.

"Estel—is that not his name?" Saruman said to Elrond.  "Who was his father?"

"A Man," replied Elrond vaguely.

Saruman forced himself to laugh.

"I would have thought that obvious, my friend.  But what was his father's name?"

"His father's name has been lost to memory," Elrond answered, "as has the lad's name."

"But surely you must know something of his father!"

Elrond shrugged.

"He was a Man of the north, but, really, Saruman, I should have taken him in no matter his parentage."

This was true.  Elrond would have given Estel sanctuary even if his mother had not been Gilraen, his father Arathorn.  Just so he had taken in Legolas at the behest of Gandalf before realizing that his father was Thranduil, King of Greenwood.

Stymied, Saruman let the matter drop, but not before unwittingly undoing the favorable impression that he had earlier created in the mind of Elrond.  The elf-lord had wondered at his own reluctance to confide the truth to Saruman.  He had been drawn to Saruman only a short while again.  Why was he now on his guard?  Glancing aslant at the wizard, for a moment he thought Saruman's eyes hooded, as if he had the second, and transparent, eyelid of a lizard or a snake.   Elrond shuddered and looked away.  After a moment, he looked back.  He could see nothing untoward, but he fancied there was a coldness in the wizard's eyes that showed them akin to those of a cold-blooded reptile.    

"But I am being unfair," he scolded himself.  "It is true that Saruman lacks the warmth of Mithrandir, but these two have taken upon themselves the form of Men, who are not all alike.  Some Men are personable; some less so.  Indeed, not all Elves are alike in that respect.  Erestor seems rigid and inflexible, whilst Glorfindel's appears to more tolerant and has an easy manner.  Yet they are both worthy Elves."

Occupying himself with these thoughts, Elrond walked on until he and all his friends arrived at Isengard and came beneath the shadow of the great tower of Orthanc.


	11. Many Meetings

Folks, the story has just jumped from PG to PG-13 on account of Elrohir's mouth.  Actually, I suppose it's what comes out of Gandalf's mouth, as repeated by Elrohir.  Oh, I see: _now_ you're suddenly interested!

_Gilraen:_ I promise that I will not kill Legolas!  I am much too infatuated with him to do away with him!  As to the other matter, I think I must disagree with you somewhat.  Even Gandalf was almost entirely blind to Saruman's evil.  As Gandalf observes at the Council of Elrond (book version), if he had had any suspicions, he would not have gone to Isengard, or at least would have gone more carefully, on the occasion when Saruman imprisons him upon the top of Orthanc.  There is a hint, though, that Galadriel may have suspected something, for she wanted Gandalf to head the Council of Elves and wizards that met from time to time.

_Farflung__, Kitsune, Dragonfly,_ and_ Joee: _Oh, all right!  I'll end the suspense over what happens to Legolas.  ^_^

_Athena Diagon Cat: _More Gandalf humor coming up toward the end of this chapter.

Tawarmaenas was right: Legolas had a fast horse.  At the pace Legolas was traveling, it was indeed unlikely that anyone or anything could have 'crept up' on him, at least not as long as he was on the plain, with a clear view from all sides.  On the other hand, had he continued to ride so swiftly, his father and the other pursuing Elves would never have been able to catch up with him in time to prevent him from approaching either the Misty Mountains or Fangorn Forest, where conditions would be dodgier.  Legolas, however, was soon to encounter a check of an unexpected nature.  He made such good time that he at length found himself in the midst of Beorn's horses, who, having safely escorted Estel and the Rivendell Elves to Mirkwood, had been grazing their way back toward their master.  As soon as Legolas came up upon this herd, the horses surrounded him.  Legolas would not have minded, except that the horses were moving due west and began to carry him along with them.  Like Elrond and Glorfindel, Legolas assumed that he ought to head south, and he immediately began to try to disentangle himself from the herd.  Again and again, Legolas urged his horse toward the outside of the herd, but he was blocked each time as one horse or another pressed up upon his horse's flanks and forced him back into the center of the herd.  At last, frustrated, Legolas gave up and let the herd carry him along.  He guessed that they were taking him to Beorn's settlement.

Sure enough, after several hours riding, they arrived at the line of tall trees behind which was to be found Beorn's compound.  Legolas dismounted and watched his stallion trot off to pasture in the company of Beorn's horses.  Then he passed through the gate breaching the thorn hedge that protected the compound.  Within, he found Beorn outside his hall pinning down several freshly skinned warg hides.

The big bear of a Man looking shrewdly at the Elf.

"Ah, young prince Legolas.  So it is your father's practice to allow his son and heir to ride out alone.  Strange.  I would not have thought it.  'Tis true you have journeyed once before without an escort—but on that occasion you were running away."

Legolas found the Shape Changer's penetrating gaze to be disconcerting, and he gazed down at the dirt.

"I am on an important errand," he muttered.

"Indeed?  Then it is very kind of you to take the time to visit my land."

Legolas could hear the mirth in Beorn's voice, and he was thrown into even greater confusion.  Beorn arose to his feet and brushed the dust from his leggings.

'I was about to take my ease amongst the denizens of my bee pastures.  Would you grace me with your company?"

"As if I had any choice in the matter," thought Legolas sourly.  Aloud he said, "It would be an honor."

Silently, he walked alongside Beorn, who bore a bundle.  When they had arrived at the bee pastures, Beorn opened the bundle, which proved to contain an excellent repast of those foods for which Beorn's settlement was famed: nutty, chewy bread and ample honey and clotted cream to spread upon each slice.  He carried a water bladder as well, and its contents were cold and sweet.  They ate sitting in the sun, the air warm but not too much so, the humming of the bees a soothing backdrop to their conversation, which meandered over many light topics, Beorn not pressing Legolas to explain his 'errand' but encouraging him to share news of no great import about Thranduil and Tawarmaenas, trifles that nonetheless reminded Legolas of how much he loved his father and his cousin.

Suddenly their conversation was interrupted by the sound of galloping horses, distant but unmistakable.  Alarmed, Legolas leapt to his feet.  Had his father's servants come to fetch him?  For all he had been reminded of his love for his father, he did not wish to be dragged back to the Great Hall.

Beorn, however, remained placidly seated.

"Elves are said to have good hearing.  How is it that you have not perceived that these horses are approaching from the west?"

Legolas blushed, but he remained standing.  To the west lay Lórien.  Perhaps messengers were arriving with news of Mithrandir.  Anxiously, he gazed off into the distance.  Three horses.  Elves.  Yes, dressed in the garb of Lothlórien.  Haldir and his brothers!  Legolas let out a whoop, which earned him an amused glance from Beorn, but he did not care.  He was wriggling like an elfling by the time the Lórien Elves slowed their horses to a walk.

"Legolas," shouted Rúmil, "have you been sitting upon an ant-hill?"

"What news, Rúmil!?  What news!?"

"Mithrandir is safe!" called Haldir.  "The Lady has seen it in her Mirror."

"Aye," added Orophin.  "For days a dark cloud shrouded her Mirror, and the Lady could see nothing.  Then Mithrandir broke free of his captor, and the cloud likewise broke.  Mithrandir is at Isengard, with Elrond, Glorfindel, your foster-brothers, and your friend Thoron."

Isengard.  Legolas made a face at that, but it was unlikely any harm would befall Mithrandir or any of the others.  Too many witnesses.

Gaily, the three Lórien Elves accompanied Legolas and Beorn back to his hall.  Once inside, Haldir and his brothers looked about in surprise.  There were no guards whiling away their time between escorting Legolas to and fro Mirkwood.

"Where are you guards?" asked a puzzled Orophin.

"I have none," said Legolas.

"No guards.  I cannot believe that!" exclaimed Haldir.  "I am sure it is not like Thranduil to fail to safeguard the treasure that is more precious to him than any other!"

"Nevertheless, I am alone."

Rúmil spoke then.  "You have run away," he said grimly.

All three of his friends looked at him accusingly.  Legolas was bewildered.  He had not expected this reaction.

"But," he said faintly, "I have run away before, and you laughed at my cleverness at eluding my elders—aye, at eluding you, too."

"You are of age, Legolas," said Haldir soberly, "and you cannot always be running away whene'er it suits you.  What can be forgiven in a youngling cannot always be o'erlooked in an older Elf who should himself be a model to the young.  For I warrant you have urged Estel to give over behavior such as yours."

Shamefaced, Legolas had to concede that he had.  But still he tried to explain himself.

"I only ran off to look for Mithrandir."

"Then your actions were well-motivated but ill-considered," Orophin observed.  "You would have accomplished little on your own and were likely to draw off forces that could have otherwise been devoted to the hunt.  Indeed, at this very moment likely there are Mirkwood Elves searching for you who would else have been dispatched to join those seeking Mithrandir."

 This had not occurred to Legolas, that rather than helping Mithrandir, he would be drawing aid away from him.

"And I would venture to guess," Rúmil joined in, "that you did not even know where to begin searching!"

"I knew to head south," argued Legolas.

"Ooooh, such a precise destination, 'south'."

Legolas now felt silly as well as ashamed.  But he would not leave off trying to justify his behavior.

"My father grabbed my wrist," said Legolas a trifle sullenly.

The Lórien Elves looked at one another.

"Meaning?" said Haldir.

Legolas could not find words to explain.

"I don't like anyone grabbing my wrist, is all," he muttered.  He knew he sounded as petulant as an elfling.

"Legolas, one time long ago, Celeborn grabbed Orophin's braid—"

"Oh, don't tell that story!"  begged Orophin.

"—braid," continued Haldir.  "It was when Orophin was an elfling and less—graceful—than he is today."

Legolas had to smile a little.  Everyone knew that Orophin was the least graceful of the three brothers.

"Orophin was frolicking about the Lord and Lady's talan, when Celeborn suddenly realized that he was teetering upon its edge.  Celeborn sprang forward, and just as Orophin lost his balance altogether, Celeborn seized hold of his braid and pulled him back."

Orophin winced at the memory.

"So if I were you," Rúmil chimed in, "I would not resent overmuch being seized by the wrist.  It could have been your hair!"

Legolas tried to consider how this tale might apply to him.  Saruman had seized his wrist to draw him into peril, but his Ada had grabbed hold of him in an attempt to protect him from danger, as Celeborn had done when he had laid hold of Orophin's braid.  No, he thought to himself, his father's gesture had not at all been like Saruman's.  Still, he hadn't liked it, he still didn't like it, and he would ask his father never to do it again.  He was willing to venture that his Ada would try to respect his wishes.  Of course, given that he now understood that he and Thranduil had two things in common—stubbornness and impulsiveness!—he knew his father might not be able to guarantee that it would never happen again.  But Legolas also knew that he would never again perceive it as threat.

"You are right," he conceded.  "I was wrong to run off, and my father meant me no harm—although it will be harder to admit that to my Ada than to you!"

"Yes," laughed Haldir, "and we have told nothing that he would have not have told you as well—but it is said that the young will accept correction from their peers that they would reject if the remonstrances came from the mouths of their elders."

"Of whom you are now one, O Wise One," teased Legolas.

All laughed, Beorn included.  Just at that moment one of the Shape Changer's equine servants trotted up and nuzzled his master, nickering softly, as if he were relaying a message.  When the horse had left, Beorn addressed his guests.

"A large party of Elven riders approaches.  From the east this time," he added, looking hard at Legolas.  "It seems that at their head is a most distinguished Elf, royalty by his garb and by the deference shown him by the other Elves."

Legolas paled.

 "Is it so dreadful, Legolas," asked Beorn, "to have a father ride out in search of his son?"

Legolas thought over Beorn's words: his father, in love and fear, riding out in order to recover him.  He had at first been unable to think of it in this fashion, focusing instead upon the idea that his Ada was trying to thwart him.  But _why_ had he been trying to thwart him?  Not to manipulate him, not to control him, but to protect him.  Surely he could not resent actions that arose from such a motive.

"I think," said Legolas slowly, "that I ought to go out and greet the riders."

Beorn nodded gravely, and Haldir and his brothers tactfully said that they preferred to remain inside, out of the sun.  Legolas took a deep breath and walked out into the foreyard to await the company.  He drew himself up as straight as he could.  The riders drew near.  Yes, there was the King at their head.  The company halted before Legolas, and his father dismounted from his stallion.  As soon as he had done so, Legolas bowed his head and dropped upon one knee.

"My Lord and my Father," he said, "I was wrong to disobey you on three scores, for you are my sovereign, my elder, and my Adar."

Thranduil raised him up by the shoulders and kissed him upon the forehead.

"True, but I spoke and behaved precipitously as well.  However, we will talk of this later.  For now, is there any news of Mithrandir?"

"Yes, Ada!  He is safe!"

"The Valar be praised!  And those who went in search of him?"

"Safe as well, Ada."

"Ah," teased Thranduil, "if that is so, perhaps we shall talk of your disobedience now."

"Ada!"

Thranduil smiled and said softly, "Nay, my son, I shall not chastise you in front of all these eyes—but we will exchange words later!"

Gratefully, Legolas nodded.  His father slipped his arm through his and side by side they entered Beorn's dwelling.  Smiling with relief at the smoothness of this second reunion, Gilglîr followed.

Beorn greeted Thranduil graciously, and the King replied in kind.  Then he turned to the Lórien Elves and addressed them as genially as if he had not been riding across the plain in uneasy pursuit of an errant son.

"Haldir, what brings you and your brothers to Beorn's settlement?"

"We were sent to bear news of Mithrandir's escape, my Lord, for the Lady was sure that Legolas would be anxiously awaiting word."

"Ah," said Thranduil wryly, "he was anxious indeed, but he could hardly have been said to have 'waited'."

Legolas winced, but his father smiled at him and patted his arm before resuming his questioning of Haldir.

"And now that you have delivered your message, what will you do?"

"I suppose," said Haldir reluctantly, "that my brothers and I shall return to Lothlórien, as we have performed our duty."

"But are you expected?  Are you needed?  In short, is there any reason that you could not accompany us back to Greenwood?  My son would be very glad if you did—aye, and my nephew, too.  Moreover, there are others who would be eager to see you.  Elladan and Elrohir will no doubt soon join us, and Estel is already there—you do know Estel, do you not?"

Haldir laughed.

"Who knows not Estel, my Lord!?"

"So you will come?"

"Yes, my Lord.  I do not believe that Lord Celeborn or Lady Galadriel would object.  We were not expected to return for several days."

"If you like, a few of my Elves could carry word to the Lord and the Lady that you and your brothers have gone on with me not as messengers but as guests."

"Thank you, my Lord."

The next day the Elves parted amiably from Beorn and rode toward Mirkwood at a leisurely pace.  Several days after they had returned to the Great Hall, Mithrandir and his Elven companions at last arrived there as well.  If he could have, Legolas would have thrown his arms around all of them at the same time.

"Ada!" he cried, practically leaping into Elrond's arms.  "And Mithrandir!" he shouted, loosing his foster-father and seizing the wizard.

"Ooomph!  I am still a little sore, Legolas!"

"Oh, I _am_ sorry, Mithrandir!"

"Well, well, never mind, but go and leap upon your foster-brothers—they can stand it better than I."

Legolas proceeded to do just that, for good measure tackling Thoron as well.  Then he squeezed Erestor and Glorfindel until both Elves swore their ribs were cracking.  At last Legolas stepped back and surveyed the party.  It was then that he noticed what Gandalf was wearing.

"Mithrandir, you are dressed all in white!"

"Aye.  We come from Isengard, as you no doubt know, and Saruman, the head of my order, was so kind as to furnish me with a robe from his wardrobe, as my own robe was tattered past decency."

"The color suits you, Mithrandir."

Indeed it did, much better than the color suited Saruman.  The Lord of Isengard had ever looked sallow in his flowing robe, but the dazzling white of Mithrandir's garment seemed to be answered by a glow that came from within the wizard himself.  Elrond and Glorfindel had thought the same but had not ventured to say so in the presence of Saruman.  As for the Lord of Isengard, it vexed him greatly to see Gandalf garbed all in white, but he had nothing else on hand to offer the Grey Wizard.

"As soon as I have laid hands on a new robe, Saruman, I shall send this one back to you."

Saruman professed to be unconcerned.

"Oh, do not trouble yourself, Mithrandir.  Mayhap you can dye the robe grey and make further use of it.  I understand that your wardrobe is not extensive."  Saruman meant that last statement to be a gibe, but it did not occur to Gandalf that there may be anything shameful about owning little more than one could wear upon one's back.

Gandalf examined a fold of the garment.

"This is fine stuff," he said.  "I do not think the cloth would stand up under the hard use that I visit upon my garments.  That mauve robe is a case in point.  Elrond, was that not one of Erestor's, meant to be worn in the library?  I think my own robe would not have been shredded quite so completely."

Elrond confirmed that it had indeed been one of Erestor's robes.

"So you see, Saruman, I doubt I could ever wear one of your robes."

"That is all to the good," Saruman gloated to himself.

But Gandalf had worn the robe on the journey from Isengard to Lórien and on to Mirkwood, and very elegant he looked.  Elrond had restored his staff to him, and now, as he stood erect, his expression its usual mixture of humor and wisdom, he looked as lordly as a king.  Legolas could hardly bear to think that he had very nearly been lost to them.

"If he should ever fall," Legolas thought, "it would be as the end of the world.  I do not know how I would be able to go on, although perforce go on I would."

Legolas shook these thoughts off and turned his mind to the present just in time to hear Thranduil promise Gandalf that Edwen Nana would sew him a new grey robe forthwith.

"Would you like the robe to be an embroidered one, Mithrandir?  Edwen Nana dotes on embroidery only a little less than she dotes on Legolas."

"Oh, no!" replied Gandalf, alarmed.  "I have heard all about Edwen Nana's embroidery.  I do not want birds flying across my back or frogs hopping up my arms."

"Not even horses galloping around the hem," teased Thranduil.

"No!"

Thranduil laughed.

"Very well.  A plain grey robe it shall be, made up of the sturdiest cloth in my kingdom."

"Thank you, Thranduil."

Thranduil, Gilglîr, and their guests moved off toward Thranduil's private chambers, where they were to celebrate with a small 'family' party.  Neither Tawarmaenas nor Legolas were to be at this initial feast, however, for their punishment, which until now had been held in abeyance, had come due.  Tawarmaenas spent the evening helping the Cellarer wrestle barrels onto the lading dock—and the shipment was a particularly large one, too.  As for Legolas, he was banished to the nursery, so to speak, for he had to spend the evening with his Edwen Nana.  At first he did not mind, for she fussed over him, fixed his favorite foods, and drew him a warm bath.  Once he was in the bath, however, to his horror she began bustling in and out of the room, each time bearing with her some object that she thought needful or inquiring as to whether he required assistance.

"You must let me spread this oil upon the water.  Your skin looks rather dry."

And then: "This unguent will help mend that bruise I see upon your leg."

In swift succession:

"This soap will do better than that one—it smells of mint."

"Be sure to wrap yourself in this towel when you come out—it is the thickest, softest one I have."

"Does that brush allow you to reach your back?  I'll scrub your back for you if it doesn't."

"Be sure to slip on these buskins when you come out, else your feet will be dirty and cold."

Legolas vociferously protested these repeated intrusions, but she heeded him not at all.

"Do not forget," she chided him, "that I changed your nappies before ever you wore leggings."

"Nana!"

"Well, 'tis true," she said serenely.

The ultimate humiliation came when Edwen Nana cheerfully announced that she was going to wash Legolas' hair.  At once Legolas ducked under the water.  He held his breathe so long that Edwen Nana was at last forced to give up the attempt and retreat from the chamber.  Legolas surfaced cautiously and looked around the room, sighing with relief to find that he truly was alone.

"Ada is very clever in his punishments," he grumbled.  "I fancy he could teach even Elrond a thing or two.  Ada means me to understand that if I act like an elfling, I am to be treated like one.  Well, I _do_ understand, and as the Valar are my witness, Nana will never again be presented with a chance to bathe me!"

Of course, Reader, many years were still to pass before Legolas played his part in the momentous events at the end of the Third Age, when he performed the deeds for which he is justifiably renowned throughout Middle Earth.  It is both possible and probable that there were occasions when his resolution to behave less like an elfling was tested and found wanting.  This Author assures you that she shall pore over the chronicles for evidence of such occasions.  If she finds such evidence, she shall lay it out before you.

Be that as it may, at this moment Legolas was washing his hair as quickly as he could, for he wanted to forestall any new incursion by his Nana.  Then he dressed so hastily that he was really not quite dry as he pulled on tunic and leggings—Nana would have clucked with concern had she seen how damp he was.  As it was, when she reappeared, she scolded him for not tending to his hair properly and insisted upon not only drying it but combing and braiding it as well.  It was both a clean and a chastened Legolas who at last escaped from the embraces of his Nana to rejoin his friends, who were by now gathered in Legolas' room awaiting the two miscreants.  Tawarmaenas showed up shortly after Legolas, and the fun began.  Tawarmaenas had made off with several bottles of Dorwinion wine—"I thought I might as well make the best of my punishment," he said—and the young Elves commenced sharing both the wine and their exploits.  Legolas listened eagerly as Elrohir, Elladan, and Thoron took turns describing their ride in search of Mithrandir.  At length they came to the point at which Treebeard had abruptly deposited Mithrandir into their midst.      

"You should have seen him, Legolas" chortled Elrohir.  "His cloak was in shreds, as was his dignity.  I know that over the centuries you have seen much of Mithrandir, but had you been there, you would have seen much more!"

"Elrohir," scolded Elladan, "you shouldn't talk so.  It is not respectful."

"But Mithrandir himself was laughing at his plight," Elrohir argued.  "Didn't you hear what he said to our Ada about his sword having been unsheathed?"

"Elrohir!"

Elrohir cheerfully disregarded his twin.

"And then Ada said to Mithrandir, 'I am sure you are very glad to be able to put up your sword again'.  And _he_ said, 'I should be glad of any chance to put it up, but, ai, the opportunities are few and far between'."

"Elrohir!" screeched a horrified Elladan.

"Oh, really, Elladan, sometimes I think you are Erestor's twin rather than mine!"

Both Legolas and Tawarmaenas were literally rolling on the floor laughing their—well, rolling on the floor.

At last the young Elves calmed themselves somewhat.

"Now we are here, Legolas," said Elrohir, "how are we going to spend our time?"

"Barrel-riding," declared Legolas.

"Oh, no," wailed Tawarmaenas.  "Your father shall be very angry if you go out under the portcullis again!"

"But this time I shall not be going alone," replied Legolas, his eyes gleaming with mischief.  Surely my father cannot object if I am in the company of other Elves."

Tawarmaenas shook his head gloomily.  He had a foreboding that he and his cousin were going to spend many a day wrestling barrels onto the lading dock.  Ah, well, he thought to himself, if that were true, at least they would have plenty of opportunity to filch more of the excellent wine with which his uncle stocked the wine cellar.  And with that happy thought, he threw himself into a general mêlée that had broken out when Rúmil poured a bottle of said wine over Elrohir's head—accidentally, of course, for as he declared, "I would not waste good wine!"  And so the young Elves carried on until they heard the rapping on the wall that signified that Gandalf had had quite enough of their noise for one night.  With that the gathering broke up.

"Until tomorrow," chorused Legolas' guests.

"Aye," he grinned, "until tomorrow."


	12. Bad Hair Day

_Farflung__: _Love this sentence of yours: "Not only did the prince wriggle like an elfling, he had acted like one also." Yes, I wish Gandalf had agreed to a row of crows. Um, _Farflung_, it doesn't take much to make Elladan blush. If Elrohir had blushed, well, _that_ would be impressive. (Hmm. Could I write a tale that would make Elrohir blush? Probably would have to take it to Adultfanfiction.net if I do, for it would surely be NC-17.) 

_Dragonfly: _Yes, sometimes young ones will take seriously things their peers say when they would give no credence to the self-same words uttered by their parents. Once, in a fit of frustration, I told my daughter that she was 'spoiled'. Indignant, she got right on the phone to one of her friends. "Heather," she said, "am I spoiled!?" Heather, bless her heart, said, "Well, actually, yes."

_Coolio__: _So you like all the sword and sheath stuff. Call me Shakespeare.

_Athena Diagon Cat: _Yep. A little foretaste of Gandalf the White.

_Silver badger: _Yes, Estel will play a role in this chapter.

_Joee__: _You can count on Erestor for more laughs in this installment.

_Grumpy: _They've got Gandalf back, but he won't stay with them for long. He is the proverbial rolling stone that gathers no moss. (Hey! I just realized something. Gandalf is older than Mick Jagger. There is somebody older than Mick Jagger! Wow!)

_Kitsune__: _The Ringwraiths are not even supposed to be walking abroad at this point, so I was kinda pushing my luck bringing one into the story. Surprised the canon hasn't been aimed at me, so to speak, over that departure from the True Faith.

_Gilraen: _You are quite right that Thranduil loves his son and gives him a name. However, in my first tale, "The Nameless One," Thranduil is distracted—to say the least!—and does not show his love—at least not in Legolas' presence. Furthermore, Legolas overhears a bit of gossip that leads him to mistakenly conclude that his father never named him. He is quite wrong about that, for his father in fact carefully chose a name for him several weeks before he was born. Nevertheless, he runs away and goes by the name of 'Anomen'—'Nameless One'—up until his reunion with Thranduil. 

Erestor took his role as guardian of Estel very seriously, and thus he went on high alert when he saw how wriggly Estel was during breakfast one morning. He also noticed that the younger Elves, too, were livelier than usual—which is to say, they were quite lively indeed! No doubt, he thought to himself, the two facts were related. His supposition was correct. Estel had been skulking about when the young Elves had gotten together before breakfast to discuss the proposed barrel-riding expedition to Lake-town. Estel had crawled out triumphantly from under a table once he knew what was afoot—or afloat, really—and had threatened to expose their plot if they didn't take him along. Reluctantly, they had agreed, and now Erestor watched Estel suspiciously as the boy pushed his food about on his plate until Elrond raised his eyebrows at him, thus causing him to subside for the time being.

"I shall have to keep a sharp eye on him today," Erestor muttered to himself, "lest he get into trouble." And Erestor proceeded to do just that.

There were few Elves now remaining in Middle Earth who knew that Erestor, in his younger days, had in fact been an excellent scout. True, his skills had become rusty from disuse, for nowadays he rarely had to hunt up anything other than a book, and those objects tended not to stray very far. But the ride from Rivendell to Mirkwood, with all its attendant excitement, had reawoken Erestor's pleasure in matters martial, and that included tracking. Now he set his rediscovered talent to work by trailing Estel throughout the livelong morning, much to that lad's frustration. It seemed that every time he turned about, his tutor was either literally or metaphorically at his elbow. Estel thought, however, that he had given Erestor the slip by the time he arrived at the lading dock. In this he was mistaken, for Erestor had been carefully listening as well as watching, and he had overheard enough snippets of conversation to know that Estel was to meet the younger Elves at the lading dock shortly after the noon meal. He had therefore gone ahead and hidden himself behind several barrels of apples that had arrived the night before and had not yet been removed to the larder. From there he watched as the young Elves slipped into the chamber in groups of twos and threes, followed at last by Estel. He perceived at once what they meant to do, for there were a great many empty barrels floating in the water, and as soon as the Elves arrived, they immediately raised the portcullis.

"I shall let Legolas and his friends go," he said to himself, "for they are old enough to engage in such hijinks, and it is really Thranduil's affair, not mine. But as for Estel, I shall drag him off and set him to memorizing the Kings of the Southern Line. That will serve him!"

And so from his hiding place Erestor watched as one after another each Elf leaped into the water, pushed a barrel past the raised portcullis, clambered onto his small vessel, and floated into the passageway. Estel watched carefully as each Elf performed this maneuver, and then he too stood upon the edge of the lading dock preparing to jump. At that moment, Erestor sprang out from his hiding place.

"Don't even think it," he said sternly.

Estel, however, was determined not only to think it but to do it, and he at once leaped into the water, seized hold of a barrel and, kicking frantically, pushed it to the opening of the tunnel. Not sparing a moment for thought, Erestor himself jumped into the water, grabbed hold of a barrel, and followed after the small human. It took him several tries to clamber atop his barrel—and several more tries to _remain_ atop it—but before too long he had his quarry in sight.

"Ah hah," he crowed, "I have—aaaah!"

The barrel had bumped into the side of the tunnel, throwing Erestor off into the water. Spluttering but resolute, he crawled back atop his vessel, grimly determined not to abandon the pursuit.

"In for a link, in for a chain," he growled, "and a chain is what I shall wrap around Estel's neck when I get a hold of him."

And so Erestor continued to bob his way down the passageway until at last he floated into the river itself. At that moment Elrohir looked back to check on the well-being of his human foster-brother. To his amazement and amusement, he saw Erestor bobbing at the rear of the long line of barrels.

"Legolas," he shouted, "you need not at all fear your father's wrath, for one of the elders is escorting us!"

Legolas glanced over his shoulder and nearly fell off his barrel. Erestor! Mouth open, he watched as Erestor's barrel hit an eddy and rolled over, dumping the tutor once more into the water. Undeterred, the tutor climbed once more atop his vessel, shaking the water out of his eyes, grasping the barrel tightly between his legs, and leaning forward to lower his center of gravity. Legolas was impressed.

"He is not easily daunted, that one," he thought to himself. "But we shall see what he makes of the rapids!"

As it turned out, Erestor was the only one who got through the rapids without being thrown off—but only because he was clinging so tightly out of terror that, even though the barrel spun around and around, rolled over several times, and crashed into more than one boulder, nothing could have shaken Erestor's grip. The others, laughing and shouting, were thrown off their barrels but did not mind in the least because getting dunked in the rapids was in fact part of the fun, and after they were through that obstacle, there was a sort of game of 'musical barrels' as each Elf tried to lay claim to one of the bobbing vessels. In the end, some of the barrels got away, and so several of the riders had to double up, Estel riding with Legolas and Elladan, to his dismay, forced to share a barrel with Rúmil, who from time to time abruptly threw his weight from one side to another to cause the barrel to roll over.

At length the current slowed as the river widened. They were nearing the Long Lake. Everyone began to look sharp—everyone except Erestor, that is. The younger Elves knew, and Estel had been told, that there was now a light-hearted war between the young Men of Lake-town and the young Elves of Mirkwood. At the first sign of an unattended barrel floating in the lake, the Men would rush into their boats and make for the river, there to lie in wait for the barrel-riders. It was understood that if they succeeded in capturing any of the joy-riders, the penalty for that unlucky Elf would be a shorn head. This in no way caused any ill-feelings between Mirkwood and Esgaroth, for Thranduil had been studiously ignoring the odd haircuts that some of the younger Elves had lately been sporting. He knew perfectly well that the barrel-riders were a nuisance, for their antics forced the Men of Lake-town to pursue abandoned barrels throughout the lake. It seemed only fitting that the Men receive some recompense, in the form of laughter, for all their hard work.

But Erestor did not know any of this. As the riders floated into the lake, Tawarmaenas gave a shout and pointed. At least half a dozen boats suddenly pulled out from the reeds, their occupants paddling furiously. At once, the younger riders 'abandoned barrel', so to speak, flinging themselves into the water and submerging to swim hidden toward the shore. The older rider, however, blissfully unaware of his peril, merely smiled with relief as a boat neared him. "Ah," Erestor thought happily, "perhaps I can prevail upon those Men to take me into their boat and paddle me ashore. I have had quite enough of this barrel."

Erestor did not in fact need to prevail upon the Men to do anything, for as soon as they drew alongside his barrel, they seized him and, laughing gleefully, dragged him into their vessel. Erestor was astonished. Not counting the injury to his dignity, the Men of Lake-town did not hurt him in any way, but Erestor was not used to being manhandled (again, literally and figuratively, but the irony of this escaped the erudite tutor). Furthermore, as soon as he reached shore, he was bodily lifted from the bottom of the boat—one Man on each limb—and dumped unceremoniously upon the ground, where stood a grinning urchin who, seeing that the Men had effected a capture, had run off to fetch shears. Without further ado, this tool was applied to Erestor's hair.

Snip. One side braid fell off, cut just above the ear. Snip. There went the other side braid. Snip. The long hair that adorned the back of his head fell to the ground. Then the Men let him up.

Erestor was swearing in Black Speech, which, fortunately, his auditors did not understand, for he made some very uncomplimentary comments about their parentage, and the situation might have gotten ugly. However, as they did not comprehend and merely continued to laugh in Erestor's face, the tutor turned his back on them and began to stomp along the shore of the lake, making for the entrance to the river. Weary and wet, he had a long walk ahead of him. He would have to follow the river upstream a considerable distance before regaining Thranduil's hall.

Fortunately, he did not have to make the entire trek on foot, for the younger Elves, who, horrified, had witnessed his capture from the safety of the riverbank, had run back to the Great Hall as fast as they could. Once there, Legolas and Haldir had taken a boat and paddled rapidly back downstream. So it was that Erestor had not gone very far before he saw a vessel approaching. The two younger Elves guided it to the bank, and Haldir held it steady as Erestor, not saying a word, stepped into it. Still not saying a word, the tutor plunked himself down in the bottom of the boat and occupied himself with wringing out his cloak. Nor did he say a word when they reached the rapids and had to portage round them. He maintained an ominous silence nearly the entire return journey. The only break in the silence: at one point Erestor sneezed loudly and repeatedly, a phenomenon which made both Legolas and Haldir jump. Such sounds are not often heard emanating from an Elf.

When they arrived back at the Great Hall, Erestor, still silent marched away, stopping only once to let loose another prodigious string of sneezes. Dismayed, Legolas and Haldir looked at each other.

"Maybe," opined Haldir, "we should just give ourselves haircuts and be done with it. 'Twould be better than enduring the suspense, I think."

Legolas shook his head gloomily.

"No. Should we try to forestall our punishment, it will only be added to. 'Twill be a haircut plus something else equally—or even more!—humiliating."

Haldir nodded his head.

"No doubt you are right," he said sadly. "I wonder if I could persuade the Lord and Lady to permit me to remain in Mirkwood until my hair grows back."

Sighing, the two Elves made their way to Legolas' room, where the rest of the malefactors waited anxiously.

"You found Erestor?" asked Elladan.

"Aye, we did," replied Legolas.

"And what did he say?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Oooooh," said Orophin, "that's bad."

"Very bad," agreed Elladan.

They went their separate ways then, in order to prepare for the evening meal. Too soon, it seemed to them, they assembled in the dining hall. Everyone was there but Erestor. Thranduil stayed the start of the meal until his arrival. When he did appear, a murmur spread throughout the room. The tutor had his hood up. This wasn't 'done', particularly not in the presence of the King. Elrond arose.

"Excuse me, Thranduil, but I will just step from the dais a minute and have a word with Erestor to make sure that everything is all right."

Thranduil inclined his head, and Elrond hastened to Erestor.

"Erestor," he whispered, "what are you doing? You know a hood is not to be worn at a meal, and certainly not in the presence of a king or great lord!"

"Elwond," muttered Erestor, "I haf a cold in my noith. I musth keep up by hood. Thought about awoidin' the meal altogethaw, but p'rapth 'twould be pewtheived ath an inthult. Pway apawogize to Thwanduil on by behaf. Don' feel up to adwethin' him byself."

Elrond led Erestor up to the dais and spoke for him.

"My Lord, Erestor is not well. He did not wish to slight your courtesy by failing to appear at dinner, but he would very much like to wear his hood to keep his head warm. He understands that this is not the custom, but, as it is rather unusual for an Elf to feel ill, he hopes that an exception may be made upon this occasion."

"Erestor, my friend," said Thranduil, very much concerned, "mayhap a formal dinner would be too much of a trial to someone who is ailing. If you like, I could have your meal brought to you so that you might dine in the comfort of your chamber. Truly, I would not feel slighted in the least if you were absent on this occasion, given your ill health."

"Thag you very buch, Thwanduil," said a relieved Erestor, glad to be spared the ordeal of dining at the head table in his current state. "Thag you very buch!" 

Erestor slowly made his way back to his chamber and crawled into his bed, wearing his cloak and hood even then. He was shortly visited there by Gandalf. No one ever knew what words were exchanged between the two, but early the next morning the wizard appeared at Thranduil's chamber to announce that he was escorting Erestor to Lothlórien.

"For Erestor's ailment," said the wizard, "it is needful that he partake of the curative powers of that golden land."

Thranduil was sorry to see the two depart. He had enjoyed conversing with both wizard and tutor on a number of topics and had looked forward to many more such conversations. However, it could not be helped. But Thranduil would try to extend his courtesy as far as it would go.  No, said Gandalf, in reply to Thranduil's parting entreaties, they didn't want an escort. They would, he said, stop at Beorn's settlement and then make their way to Lothlórien. According to the scouts, the way was clear at least as far as the dwelling of the Shape Changer, and from there on no doubt they would be guarded by Beorn's excellent horses.

And so Erestor departed, never having been seen to lower his hood in public since the previous evening. In fact, he was never seen in public at all after his brief visit to the dining hall. He had, however, been visited in private by a group of very subdued young Elves. They had all had their hoods up when they appeared at the door to his chamber, but once Gandalf had admitted them—the wizard was sitting up with the tutor—they lowered them. Each and every one was as bald as a newborn mouse.

Gandalf had been inclined to be severe with them—Erestor felt too ill to be severe with anyone—but he had to give over his plans when he saw the array of bald-headed young ones standing before him.

"Well," he said, eyebrow quirking, "this has been quite an adventure. Lost wizards, lost robes, lost princes, lost hair."

"Lost dignity," moaned Erestor from beneath his quilt.

"Aye, that too," agreed Gandalf, "yours _and_ mine."

"And now ours as well," declared Legolas, "for we mean to leave this room with our hoods down."

Gandalf chuckled, thinking to himself that the baldness of Legolas and his friends would more likely be perceived as a fashion statement than as a disgrace. He would not be at all surprised if, upon his return to Mirkwood, he were to see baldness the general mode of wearing—well, not wearing—one's hair. Well, well, mayhap Thranduil would be able to nip the practice in the bud.

The next morning, as Gandalf stood waiting for Erestor to mount up—Erestor was doing everything in slow motion, as was to be expected—the wizard bethought himself of a conversation that he had been hoping to have with Thranduil. How, he wondered, was the King enjoying fatherhood. He smiled to himself. Mayhap it was good that the conversation was to be delayed. For no doubt the discovery that his son was bald would soon color Thranduil's reflections.

"Pity I will not be here to witness that moment," thought Gandalf. "Maybe I can apply to Galadriel to allow me the use of her mirror to see what transpired—although the Lady does not generally permit her mirror to be used to see things that are of little importance. Well, well, perhaps she will make an exception in this instance."

With that hopeful thought, Gandalf rode off at the side of Erestor—although you may be sure that neither he nor Erestor ride out of the story altogether.


	13. Another Hair Raising Chapter

**Folks, as _Kelly Kragen _and _Joee_ have pointed out, Estel needs his hair for his encounter with Edwen Nana, so I have made the necessary changes to give him his locks back.  _Joee_, I already owe you a story (no, I have not forgotten).  _Kelly Kragen_, I owe you one, too—but you will have to take a number and stand in line!**

_AzureDragoness_and_ Kelly Kragen: _Thank you both for your kind words. I hope each of you enjoys this update.

_Kitsune__: _Yes, it does seem to be a recurrent theme.

_Jebb__: _Yes, this time absolutely bald. Not merely trimmed, but completely hairless. And yes, I promise you that I shall indeed keep my eyes open for more tales involving Edwen Nana. I am sure she must be featured from time to time in the chronicles, for she is very important in Legolas' life.

_Lyn: _Oh, dear, there is going to be more loss of hair in this chapter. However, you may find it more acceptable because it comes about for a_ very _good reason.

_Farflung__:_ Yes, they should think more about the consequences of their actions; on the other hand, it's a lot more fun when they don't! Hmm, I like the idea of Elrohir falling in love for real with an Elf maiden and then having Erestor and the others dangle the skeletons over his head.

_Athena Diagon Cat: _Now! Now! Don't be too hard on the young Men of Lake-town. They had a tacit understanding with the young Elves of Mirkwood that they could snip off the braids of any Elf they caught. It isn't their fault that they didn't know that Erestor wasn't in on this game!

_Joee__: _Yes, there goes their hair _again_. Will they never learn? (Hope not; life would be a lot less interesting for me if I didn't have their adventures and misadventures to write about.)

_Gilraen: _About the sword and the sheath—wish Elrohir were here to explain 'things', but here goes: The word 'vagina' is Latin for sheath, so enterprising (or just plain silly) writers have for centuries enjoyed writing puns about men inserting swords in sheaths. When a warrior 'puts up his sword', he replaces it a sheath, but of course there are other long, narrow, pointy objects that warriors can 'put up'. O.K. I'm blushing now. Serves me right for using those puns in the first place.

_Dragonfly: _Yes, it's kind of hard to wrap one's mind around a bald Haldir.

Thranduil squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his fingers against the lids until he saw stars. When he cautiously opened his eyes, the scene had not changed. Lined up in front of him were creatures who would not have been recognizable as Elves were it not for their pointed ears.

"And you did this why?" he asked faintly.

"We owed it to Erestor," said Legolas.

Thranduil considered asking Legolas to explain why he thought the young Elves had owed Erestor their hair, but he decided against it.

"I probably do not want to know," he said to himself. Instead, he ordered Legolas, Tawarmaenas, and their Greenwood compatriots to the lading dock for the next fortnight. As for the Rivendell Elves, Lord Elrond ordered them to the stables—"and not to ride but to clean the stalls!"—and acting in the place of Celeborn and Galadriel, the Lord of Imladris assigned the Lórien brothers to skivvy duty in Thranduil's kitchens.

After the young Elves had obediently trooped off to their respective assignments, Elrond reassured Thranduil that this sort of thing was to be expected.

"Thranduil, I cannot even begin to recount the number of times that Legolas has lost his hair in whole or in part. It has been cut off and burnt off, as well as dyed every color imaginable. Fortunately, hair does grow back. If you would assign me a guide familiar with the best spots to gather medicinal plants, I shall collect some roots that may be used to prepare an ointment that encourages the quick regrowth of hair."

"Thank you, Elrond. I would be very grateful if you would do so. I myself will conduct you through the forest. I think 'twould do me good to be free of the Great Hall for one day. Gilglîr will be able to manage, I am sure."

Elrond agreed to shortly meet Thranduil at the entrance to the Great Hall, and he went to Glorfindel's chamber to tell him that he would be gone for the day.

"Glorfindel, Thranduil has of course left Gilglîr in charge, but would you mind stopping by the stables from time to time?"

"The stables? Why the stables?"

The younger members of our party have been assigned to clean the stalls each day for the next fortnight."

"Oh, and why?"

"They shaved their heads."

"Is that all?"

"Oh, probably not. I am sure there is something behind this tonsorial escapade. Erestor had his hood up the last time I spoke to him, but it seemed to me that the hair that usually frames his face was very much reduced in quantity."

"Oh ho! No wonder he has gone off to Lothlórien! And you think Elladan and Elrohir had something to do with this?"

"Yes, as well as Legolas and several other of the young ones. There were a great number of bald Elves in Thranduil's presence chamber just now."

With that, Elrond departed, and Glorfindel made his way to the stables to check on the progress of the miscreants who had been assigned to clean it. They were in fact very nearly finished, for, as Thranduil's stables were kept in very good order, there had not been much to do.

"Glorfindel," called Elrohir when he saw the balrog-slayer enter the stables, "may we do as we like as soon as we have finished here?"

Elrond had left them no other task, so Glorfindel grudgingly admitted that the young Elves would indeed be at liberty.

 "But that does not mean that you may 'do as you like'," he hastened to add. "Pray show some judgment!"

 "Oh, we will," Elrohir assured him. "Once Legolas and the others have completed their duties, we are going to go riding, and we will be very sure to keep to the paths that are clear of spiders. The area to the west has lately been swept by scouts and is quite safe."

 "It was quite safe _when_ the area was swept by scouts," observed Glorfindel. "Do remember that spiders have legs and are liable at any time to stroll into areas where they have not been previously known to dwell. Perhaps," Glorfindel added, "I should go along with you as an escort."

The young Elves exchanged dismayed looks.

"Oh, that won't be necessary," Elrohir said quickly.

"Estel is going with you, is he not?" said Glorfindel. "As Erestor is no longer here, it is I who should look after the lad."

"We can look after him," argued Elrohir.

"Trust him to _your_ tender mercies?" said Glorfindel dryly. "I think not, Elrohir. Elrond would take it ill if _he_ were to return hairless."

And so it was that after the noon meal a very lively group of young Elves sallied forth from the Great Hall and rode off into the forest of Mirkwood. A rather more subdued balrog-slayer brought up the rear, keeping a sharp eye on Estel, who trotted along on his pony with an excited expression on his face. Finally he was going to get a good look at the fabled forest. Would it be too much to hope that they would encounter a spider? He had been disappointed that during the ride into Mirkwood the only signs he had seen of these creatures were the remnants of several shredded webs which waved forlornly in the occasional breeze that found its way to the forest floor. Perhaps he would have better luck today.

The first several miles went very well, but then Estel's pony suddenly stumbled. Estel had become an excellent rider and did not even come near to being unhorsed. After all, he was the lad who had clung like a burr to Glorfindel's great stallion when he was little more than a toddler—a feat that few Elves would be able to duplicate. Still, although Estel was uninjured, it was clear that the pony had gone lame. Estel dismounted, and Glorfindel examined the pony's leg.

"We shall have to slowly lead the pony back to the stable," he said. He straightened himself and addressed Elrohir.

"See," he said teasingly, "if I hadn't come along, one of you would have been forced to return to the Great Hall. 

Elrohir was indeed now glad that the balrog-slayer was with them. Estel, however, was indignant. Did Glorfindel think him a baby!?

"I can make my way back by myself!" he declared. "We are only a few miles from the Great Hall, and the paths are well marked. You can go on with the others, Glorfindel."

"Nay," said Glorfindel. "I would much rather go back with you. Besides, if I do not go back with you, what will you do when you arrive at the Hall? None of your friends will be about."

"I would tend to my pony," said Estel stoutly.

"True, but I can help you at that. I have some skill with horses, as you well know. I will be able to show you how to prepare and apply the poultice."

Estel was always eager to learn more about the care of horses, and his attitude changed in a trice.

"Oh, good," he exclaimed. "I should like that very much!"

So, Estel leading his pony and Glorfindel his horse, the two bade farewell to the rest of the company and began to slowly trudge back toward the Hall. Estel was one who recovered quickly from disappointments, and he chattered gaily to Glorfindel, who listened to him with patience and good humor. Both boy and balrog-slayer were thus happy and relaxed when suddenly pony and horse reared and pulled the reins from their hands. Both steeds dashed off, even the pony, for all he was lame. Stunned, Elf and boy looked after them as they disappeared down the path that led to the Great Hall.

"I wonder what made them do that?" Estel was beginning to say when Glorfindel urgently cried, ""Estel, into that tree! No, wait"—spiders could climb—"into that hollow log yonder!"

Estel scrambled into the opening in the log, which was too small, Glorfindel hoped, to admit a spider, and the boy squirmed about in an effort to see what had alarmed the balrog-slayer so. He was not a child prone to nightmares, but what he saw haunted his dreams for many a night.

Estel had gotten his wish, and now he wished he hadn't. Two spiders hovered above Glorfindel, fangs oozing venom. Glorfindel fended off one with his sword, the other with his knife.

If it had been any Elf other than Glorfindel, the spiders might have supped very well that day. But this was the balrog-slayer, and he was not easily daunted. He was also the one who had trained Legolas in two-handed fighting, and to Estel it seemed as if Glorfindel's hands could operate independently of one another. Thrust with the knife. Parry with the sword. It was the spiders who began to tire before Glorfindel did.

Still, in the course of the battle Glorfindel had been retreating slightly without even being aware of it, and suddenly he backed into an obstacle. When he tried to step to the side, he realized that he was fixed in place. He had retreated into a spider web, and his cloak and his hair had become ensnared in its sticky silk. Glorfindel did not panic, however. It was one of the spiders who now made a fatal mistake. Perceiving that the Elf was trapped in the web, the arachnid became overconfident and reared up, exposing its vulnerable underside. With all his strength, Glorfindel thrust at him with his sword and drove his weapon deep into the spider's belly. Mortally wounded, Glorfindel's sword embedded in its body, the spider staggered back and dragged itself off into undergrowth. As for the second spider, Glorfindel let fly his knife, which buried itself in one of its eyes. Screeching, it scuttled after his companion. Glorfindel had bested his foes, but he was now weaponless. 

"Estel," Glorfindel gasped, "give me your knife. Quick!"

Estel crawled out from the hollow trunk and drew the small blade that he always carried, handing it to Glorfindel, who began to hack at the web. He could not make much headway, however, so awkward was his position. His back was to the web, and he had to reach over his shoulder with the knife to cut at it. This did not allow him to press down with very much force.

"I could try," offered Estel.

"No!" declared Glorfindel. "Do not come near! I do not want you to become trapped in this web as well."

Glorfindel stopped slashing at the web and considered. The sticky strands of spider silk were thick and strong, but Glorfindel knew that even with Estel's little blade he should eventually be able to cut through them. The problem was that, given his awkward position, he did not know whether he would have enough time. The spiders had retreated, but perhaps they would alert their fellows. Soon the forest might be swarming with spiders.

"Estel," he called, "I want you to draw near, but be sure to keep my body between you and the web."

Estel did as he was told.

"Now take the knife and cut my hair free of the web."

"Your hair?"

"Aye, and cut it as near to the scalp as you can so that you keep your hands as far away from the web as possible."

Standing on tiptoe, Estel reached around behind Glorfindel's head and began to saw away at his hair. Soon the balrog slayer's head was free. Now Glorfindel unfastened his cloak and slipped out of it, leaving it hanging in the web. Then, seizing Estel's hand, he hustled him away from that place. With no pretence of grace or dignity, they ran for the Great Hall as fast as their legs would carry them. Elrond and Thranduil had by then returned and were sharing a glass of wine in Thranduil's private chamber. Glorfindel and Estel burst in without ceremony.

"Thranduil," exclaimed the balrog-slayer, "there were at least two spiders within an easy walk of the Hall. Their web was not far off the path. And a party of young Elves, your son among them, has gone out riding!"

Thranduil's glass dropped from his hand, shattering upon the floor, and he ran from the room shouting for Gilglîr. Within minutes a force of Mirkwood Elves, Thranduil and Elrond at their head, had ridden out in pursuit of the riding party. And in the days to follow the Mirkwood Elves would relentlessly hunt out every spider nest as far west as the plain, as far east as the Long Lake, and as far south as Dol Guldur. It would be some time before Northern Mirkwood was again menaced by arachnids. 

Once the rescue party had departed, Glorfindel handed Estel over to the care of Edwen Nana, who had been eagerly awaiting an opportunity to mother the lad ever since his arrival at the Great Hall. And mother him she did—but this one time Estel had no objection to being cosseted.

"Look at your hair! It wants washing," Edwen Nana exclaimed. "And a thorough combing out as well —I do believe there are burrs in the center of those knots!"

Edwen Nana ushered Estel into her chambers and, just as she had done for Legolas, she drew him a bath. Thankfully, she allowed him to undress himself and waited until he was in the water before she arrived to carry off his dirty clothes. As Estel was undressing, he discovered to his chagrin that his leggings were rather wet around the seat. So frightened he had been that this fact had earlier escaped his notice. To his relief, however, Edwen Nana tactfully forbore commenting upon this peculiar dampness. Instead, she merely brought in a set of fresh clothes that she just happened to have on hand.

"Lately I have been occupying myself with sewing a set of clothes that I believe will fit you very well. Isn't that a fortunate happenstance?"

Estel agreed that this was fortunate indeed and soon, clean, clad, and fed, he was asleep, with Edwen Nana watching over him in case he should wake during the night, which in fact he did several times—and very pleased he was to have someone in the room to rub soothing circles on his back.

"I am glad," he mumbled to himself on one of these occasions, "that I am not a warrior just yet."

Meanwhile, Thranduil and Elrond and the rest of the searchers had hunted up the young Elves and were escorting them back to the Great Hall. During the hasty return to the Hall, the young Elves were told only that there had been a spider attack and that no deaths or injuries had resulted. And so when Legolas and his friends entered the presence chamber, they were surprised to see Glorfindel there nursing a glass of wine, his long hair shorn near to the scalp. 

"Glorfindel," exclaimed Legolas, "what has happened to you!?"

"I lent my hair to a spider's web—aye, and my cloak as well."

"Where is Estel!?" cried Elrohir, alarmed.

"I believe," said Glorfindel with a smile, "that by now he has probably succumbed to the kindly ministrations of Legolas' Edwen Nana."

Legolas, too, smiled for a moment, but then he insisted on hearing the whole story from beginning to end. Glorfindel told the tale with great verve, dramatically recounting each thrust and counter-thrust, and the younger Elves found his account to be quite exciting indeed. Since no one had suffered any permanent harm, they felt themselves licensed to dwell on the heroic nature of the encounter, and they were soon cheerfully discussing Glorfindel's exploits among themselves, hoping that they, too, could someday lay claim to such a deed.

As for Elrond, however, as he listened he could not prevent his hand from straying again and again to his head, as if he were reassuring himself that his hair was still attached. Indeed, Thranduil that night seemed to be suffering from the selfsame tic. And both shuddered from time to time at the thought of what might have happened had Glorfindel not ridden out that day. Had either Elf been mortal, no doubt they would have sported at least a few grey hairs by the end of the balrog-slayer's tale. However, it is only human, Dwarf, and Hobbit parents who suffer the turning of their hair.

Yet, grey hair or no, the fears that Elven parents feel are no different and no less severe than those experienced by mortals. Thranduil was even more tender than usual later that night when he went to 'tuck in' Legolas. (Neither of the two would use that term, but that was in fact what it amounted to.) Thranduil sat long by Legolas' bed, talking of this and that, reluctant to give over the sight and sound of his son.

"Glorfindel has sacrificed his hair," Legolas at last ventured.

"Ye-es," said Thranduil cautiously.

"Will he have to henceforth clean the stables with the other Rivendell Elves?"

"Glorfindel sacrificed his hair for a good cause. Can you say the same?"

"We did it so that Erestor would not feel so bad. His hair was shorn, but we thought, if we did something even worse to our own hair, his would not look so bad by comparison. Everyone would stare at us, and he would not feel conspicuous. Of course," he added ruefully, "we did not know he meant to depart the very next morning, else mayhap we would have chosen another way to express our sympathy."

"And how did Erestor's hair come to be shorn?"

"We went barrel riding, and Erestor gave chase. He was caught; we weren't."

"I think," said Thranduil, "that it is time for the barrel-riding to be brought to an end. You have had your fun; now cease tormenting the Lake-men."

"Yes, Ada. We will no longer go barrel-riding. We have hit upon a new means of amusement."

Thranduil was instantly suspicious.

"Pray tell, what form shall this new amusement take?"

"Oh," said Legolas casually, "we mean to rope and ride arachnids."

Thranduil opened his mouth to let out a roar but then caught sight of the teasing look on Legolas' face.

"You scamp," he growled, "is there no end to your tomfoolery!?"

"No," said Legolas innocently. "Do you want there to be?"

"Of course not, my son," said Thranduil gently as he leaned down and kissed Legolas upon his forehead. "All the same, I am glad that there are no windows in your room! Elrond has told me all about your many escapes."

"Actually," said Legolas, "Most times I did not really need to go out the window. There were always any number of ways that I could have escaped Elrond's Hall."

"Then why did you almost always flee out the casement?"

Legolas considered.

"It was the principle of the thing," he said slowly. "I could have gone in and out the door most days, but, well, that wasn't romantic enough for me."

Thranduil had to laugh.

"That is a notion you have gotten out of a book," he teased.

Legolas admitted that was so and laughed as well. Then he changed the subject.

"Ada," he said, a little anxious now, "how much longer will my friends be staying?"

"At least a fortnight," teased Thranduil, "for that is their term of punishment."

"Oh, I am glad!" exclaimed Legolas. "I mean," he added hastily, "I am not glad that they have penalties to serve out, but I _am_ glad that they are staying at least that much longer. You don't suppose that the penalties could be remitted, do you? That way we could spend more time together before they must return to their own lands."

Legolas looked appealingly at his father

Thranduil shook his head.

"Oh, no, you won't get out of things so easily. This is no window you can climb through!"

Thranduil gave his son a second kiss and then, reluctantly, he arose.

"You and I both have guests to entertain tomorrow. Good-night, my son."

"Good-night, Ada."

In Lothlórien, Gandalf snorted with mirth as he gazed into Galadriel's mirror

"Are you pleased with what you see, Mithrandir?" said Galadriel softly.

"Very much so, my Lady. Thranduil appears to be surviving his initiation into parenthood—and considering that his offspring is Legolas, that's saying a lot!"

"Good. Now away with you! And do not be troubling me every few months for a glimpse of Legolas. I come to this Glade to consider matters of great import, and hairless Elves are not numbered amongst my concerns."

"When his hair grows back, then?" teased Gandalf.

"You are as much a scamp as Legolas is!" declared the Lady. "But," she added thoughtfully, "I would no more have you change than Thranduil would have Legolas do so."

She did not, however, add, "for then you should be like Saruman."

Aloud she said, "I have prepared an ointment that Erestor may rub into his scalp. Pray carry it to him."

Gandalf gratefully accepted the bowl from her and turned to leave the glade. It was then that Galadriel noticed something odd about the new grey robe that he sported.

"Mithrandir," she called, "are you aware that there is a flock of crows betwixt your shoulder blades?"

"A flock of crows, my Lady," replied Gandalf, puzzled. "How could that be? Do you speak in riddles?"

"Nay, Mithrandir, I do not. Embroidered on your back is a large number of birds—the work is very elegant I must say. Is this to signify that you are Gandalf Stormcrow, as some amongst the Rohirrim call you?"

Gandalf shook his head smiling.

"I have escaped Mirkwood with my hair, but I have not escaped altogether. Those birds would be Edwen Nana's doing."

"Legolas' foster mother?"

"Aye, and a most redoubtable lady she is! Well, well, in truth I have gotten off lightly. At least she did not try to bathe me!"

"Indeed! For that we must be grateful. Stay well, my friend."

"And you, my Lady."

With that Gandalf strode from the Glade. As for Galadriel, she waited a decent interval, and then, had anyone happened by, they would have witnessed a sight most unusual: Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien, bent over double, laughing her—well, laughing _very_ hard indeed! Perhaps Elrond was correct; perhaps the end of the Third Age did draw nigh!


	14. Small Matters

**Once again, a big thanks to _Dragonfly_ for serving as beta reader!**

_Grumpy:_ Yes, I don't think it will hurt Estel to be mothered once in a while.

_Kitsune: _**No one** gets away unscathed from the redoubtable Edwen Nana!  Seriously, though, it was something _Farflung_ mentioned that gave me the idea.

_Azure Dragonness: _One order of mischief coming up.

_Silver badger: _I have gone back and revised both affected chapters so that Estel now does have hair for Edwen Nana to wash.  The upside of this, of course, it that now I can devise a chapter specifically designed to part Estel from his hair!  By the way, I owe you a story because you found a substantive error.

_Gilraen: _Don't worry: I won't be introducing any slash elements.  Heck, Tolkien practically omits any reference to _heterosexual_ pairings, so slash would definitely be extremely non-canonical!

_Kelly: _As I mention to _Silver badger_ above, I restored Estel's hair so that Edwen Nana can wash it.  And, of course, I owe you a story.

_Farflung__: _'Hare-brained', huh?  O.K. there is no way I am not going to use that pun in some future story.  I will leave no pun unturned!

_Joee: _Yes, loss of hair seems to have become a _leit-motif_.

_Dragonfly: _Your review turned out to be prescient, for Glorfindel's hair was indeed cut in the previous chapter.  That leaves Elrond (and, as I have restored his hair, Estel).  I do not think I would dare to tamper with the hair of Celeborn, Galadriel, or Gandalf.  Well, maybe Gandalf.  After all, one time I _did_ contrive to catch his beard on fire.  Maybe have a spark from his pipe land upon his head?

Estel was of course sorry that his pony had gone lame, but he could not help being grateful that the injury meant that he would not have to depart Mirkwood for several more weeks.

"Before we set out," Glorfindel had said to Elrond as they looked over the pony late one afternoon, "we must be quite sure that the muscles of that leg have fully recovered."

"Yes," agreed Elrond, "the trek is a long one, so we should not set out if there is still any doubt about the soundness of Estel's mount."

"And perhaps," mused Glorfindel, "we should consider altering our route so that we need not pass over the Misty Mountains.  Mayhap that 'twould be asking too much of a pony who has but recently recovered from a bout of lameness."

"You are thinking of the Gap of Rohan, then?"

"Yes.  Let us first journey to Lothlórien so that Mithrandir and Erestor may rejoin us.  From there we should travel to Isengard and thence further south, through the Gap."

"Erestor will not be pleased with that route," observed Elrond.  "He will object to staying at Orthanc."

"You think so?  I thought he had recovered from his suspicions of Saruman."

"But," Elrond pointed out, "he has been spending time with Galadriel.  I do not doubt but that her influence will have reawoken his dislike for the Istar."

Glorfindel shook his head.

"Elrond, for all I like to spar with Erestor, you know that I have the greatest of respect for him.  In this matter, however, he does not display his customary wisdom."

"I am perplexed as well," agreed Elrond.  "But I must say," he added thoughtfully, "that Erestor is not the only one who mistrusts Saruman."

"There is Galadriel, of course, but who else?"

"Legolas as you know," replied Elrond, "but it seems to me that Elladan and Elrohir also are uncomfortable in his presence.  And I do not think Estel likes him, either."

"But Mithrandir trusts him," Glorfindel argued.

"True," said Elrond slowly, "but, Glorfindel, I cannot help but be glad that we have never told Saruman anything about Estel.  And, do you know, I sense that Mithrandir has been hiding some knowledge of his own from the head of his order—although, if you were to question him, no doubt he would be unable to say why."

"So perhaps Erestor is right," said Glorfindel anxiously.  "Mayhap we should not go near Isengard after all."

Elrond shook his head.

"We are a large party.  I cannot imagine how we could come to harm at Isengard, save by misadventure."

"Perhaps a clever wizard could arrange such a misadventure."

"Do not forget that we will have our own wizard along with us.  No, Glorfindel, I am sure that we shall be quite safe."

Estel was not of course present during this conversation—if he had been, no doubt he would have offered his own candid thoughts upon the wisdom of traveling to Isengard.  However, as it was late afternoon, he was otherwise occupied in playing a sort of game of hide and seek with Edwen Nana, who was determined to see that he bathed.  Estel was equally determined not to wash this evening.

"I have already bathed once this week," he had complained to Legolas after Edwen Nana had materialized and told him that his water had been drawn.

"Where is it written," Legolas asked, "that if you have bathed once in a week you may not do so again?"

"In the chronicles of Men," Estel replied promptly.

"I have seen no such chronicle!"

"Do you not know that Isildur son of Elendil died because he bathed?"

"He was not bathing," retorted Legolas.  "He dove into the water to escape Orcs.  And it was not the water that harmed him!  'Twas the fault of the One Ring, which abandoned him, thus revealing his presence to the Orcs, who then slew him with arrows.  Now go and take your bath!  You offend my nose!"

"Elf!  Your nose is too sensitive," muttered Estel.

"I heard that!"

"Your ears are too sensitive, too," grumbled the boy as he stomped from the room.  He had no intention, however, of meekly climbing into any tub.

"This Hall is large," he said to himself.  "Surely there must be some place where I may hide until Edwen Nana gives over her plan of making me bathe."

And so Estel set out to explore the Great Hall of King Thranduil.  From the outside, no one would have guessed the extent of it, for much of it lay underground.  With torch in hand, Estel descended deeper and deeper into the depths of the Hall, until at last he reached the lowest level, where the dungeon lay.  This place was little used, for Thranduil rarely had cause to detain anyone within these cells hewn out of rock.  In fact, the last time it had been known to happen had been when a party of Dwarves blundered through the forest and refused to explain their errand to the king.

Now, years later, Estel raised his torch high and stared about him.  He noticed with satisfaction that everything was covered with dust.  Obviously, no one had come here in a long time.  Ergo, it was an excellent place to hide.  Of course, it was also an excellent place to become even dirtier than he was, so Elrond himself was sure to order Estel to bathe forthwith when he reappeared in the upper corridors.  This fact, however, did not occur to Estel.

For quite some time he wandered about, peering into cell after cell.  After a time, though, the boy became bored, for one cell was very much like another.  Thranduil had not, after all, troubled to decorate the dungeon!

It was at this point that Estel noticed a hole in the corner of one cell.

"I wonder if that is the entrance to a secret passageway," said Estel to himself.  "Perhaps," he thought hopefully, "it will prove to be a means of escaping the dungeon.  If I follow it, mayhap I shall find myself outside!  That would be grand, for then Edwen Nana should never find me!"

With that, Estel placed his torch in a bracket upon the wall and slipped head first into the opening.  He wriggled several feet forward before it came to an end.  Ai! It did not prove to be an outlet to the outside.  Perhaps the tunnel had been started but then abandoned by an enterprising Dwarf who did not need to finish it because an invisible Hobbit had pinched the keys to the cell.  In any event, it was only long enough to admit one boy up to his full length, and that was all.

Disappointed, Estel began to back out of the tunnel, but of course he couldn't.  That is always the way in a story such as this.  A man-child or an elfling squeezes as far as possible into a narrow space and then cannot get out again. No doubt there is some physical law at work here whose mechanism will someday be explicated by learned philosophers.  For now, however, Estel was trapped—and in a place that was rarely, if ever, visited by Thranduil's Elves.  This was not good, and Estel knew it.

Matters went downhill from there.  A little light came into the tunnel from the torch, but at length the torch began to splutter.  Shortly thereafter it burned down to the bracket, and Estel found himself in complete and utter darkness.  It was a blackness that could be found only in such places as the depths of Moria.

Once the cell and tunnel had been cast into darkness, the rats of course came out to play, as did spiders, lizards, and assorted other creatures.  Estel could hear the scurrying and scrabbling.  Worse, sometimes he felt things crawling or scampering across his face and body.

Up until that point, Estel had remained quite calm.  He knew he would be missed, he knew a search would be mounted, and he knew that eventually every inch of the Great Hall would be searched, not excepting the dungeon.  But now time had begun to matter to the boy.  He feared that he would not be found before the rats and other creatures had begun to nibble upon his limbs.  If enough time passed, he thought in a panic, might not his body be reduced to nothing but a skeleton?  Horrified by his thoughts, he now began to shriek as loudly as he could, just as Legolas had done when he had been trapped in the badger hole and feared that the creature would return and gnaw his toes.

Estel was of course correct in his belief that he would be missed and that the Hall would be searched.  It had in fact already been swept twice, but no one had yet given any thought to the dungeon, so little was it frequented.  It might have been some time before anyone had thought of searching that place, had it not been for Legolas.

"Hush," he said suddenly to Elladan and Elrohir, with whom he was searching a wing.

"Do you hear something?" said Elladan hopefully.

"I might," retorted Legolas, "if you would cease talking."

Chastened, Elladan fell silent.  Legolas stood quite still, his head tilted to one side.

"Yes," he said at last.  "That is a child shrieking, and it comes from below.  Let us make for the dungeon."

Torches in hand, they began to descend the many steps that led to the dungeon.  At last even Elladan and Elrohir could hear Estel's howls.  Down a corridor they hastened, until they finally reached the cell from which the yells emanated.  For a moment they saw nothing.

"There," Legolas pointed.  "That hole."

Legolas handed his torch to Elrohir and then lay down upon his belly, peering into the opening.  Yes, there was a small pair of boots.

"Estel," called Legolas, "calm yourself.  It is Legolas, Elladan, and Elrohir.  We will get you out, or find someone who can."

Legolas reached in to the hole, grabbed Estel's boots, and pulled.  The boots slipped off, but the boy did not budge.  Legolas reached in again, this time taking a firm grip on Estel's ankles, and tried again,

"Ow! Ow! OW!  You are going to pull my feet off!"

Legolas sighed and turned to Elrohir.

"Would you return to the main level and fetch my father?  I think we are going to have to enlarge this hole somehow."

Elrohir hurried off and soon returned not only with Thranduil but also with Gilglîr, Elrond, and Glorfindel.

"When this happened to Legolas," Elrond offered, "the Gardener enlarged the hole until we could draw him forth."

"Yes," said Thranduil, "but this is solid rock.  'Twill be no easy matter to enlarge the hole.  Pickaxes will be required, and they shall have to be wielded very carefully lest Estel be injured." He turned to Gilglîr.  "How came this hole here?  It was not planned so."

"No," replied Gilglîr, "no doubt it was painstakingly carved out by some prisoner who fancied that he could escape in that fashion."

"But what prisoner?" said Thranduil, puzzled.  "These cells are hardly ever used."

Gilglîr's eyes lit up.

"No doubt one of those Dwarves—and Dwarves are just what we need at the moment.  Thranduil, I will take a boat and hasten to Lake-town.  There are always Dwarves thereabouts on trading missions.  I will prevail upon several to return with me to the Great Hall.  They will know how to manage this business."

"Excellent," exclaimed Thranduil and Elrond at once.

"Please hurry," added Elrond.  "I know Estel will come to no harm, but he cannot be comfortable, and he shall soon be hungry and thirsty."

"Yes, I will be hungry and thirsty eventually" thought Estel to himself, "but at the moment I have a more, um, pressing problem.  I need to make water!   Whatever shall I do about _that_!?"

In a little while the solution presented itself to him, but it is not necessary to go into details.  Suffice it to say that Edwen Nana would once again need to be forbearing and discrete when she collected Estel's dirty clothes and carried them off to be laundered.

Gilglîr took one of the boats that always lay in readiness by the bank of the Forest River, and Glorfindel came along and took a second.  The two Elves paddled as quickly as they were able to Esgaroth.  When they arrived, they went at once to the dwelling of King Bard, who just happened to be entertaining a Dwarven delegation at that very moment.  It is truly wonderful how things always work out in tales such as this one.  Indeed, not only were four Dwarves to be found at Bard's Hall, but they were Naugrim who were exceptionally well suited to the task at hand.  It seems that these particular individuals had acquired personal knowledge of the layout of Thranduil's dungeon.

"Yes," said one dryly, "I am familiar with the accommodations in the lower levels of Thranduil's Great Hall.  In fact, it is probable that I know the very tunnel of which you speak.  Aye, for likely it is the one I myself carved!"

Gilglîr was simultaneously embarrassed but delighted.  Thanking the Dwarves profusely, he conducted them to the boats, and they returned to the Great Hall at once.

Once there, the Dwarves proceeded to tap at the foundation of the cell.

"There," muttered one—it was in fact Bifur.

"Hmm-uh," grunted another—Bofur.  "Not quite.  A little to the left."

"Aye, and forward as well," said a third—Dori he was.

"That will do it," agreed the fourth—Nori this last one was.

They were several feet away from Estel, and the Elves perceived that they meant to dig sideways toward the boy."

"It is good that we sought their aid," said Thranduil softly to Elrond, "for I should have had our Elves dig straight down, and no doubt Estel would have been injured."

"Aye," agreed Elrond gratefully.  "The Dwarves have much wisdom in this matter."

At first the Dwarves wielded their pickaxes with great abandon, but as they neared Estel, they tapped away with such delicacy that you would have thought they wielded small engraving chisels rather than their heavy tools.  Still, for all their care, with remarkable speed they reached Estel.  They never broke away the rock that lay above him but instead pulled him out sideways.  Had they done otherwise, he might have been injured by falling rock.

At first Estel was ecstatic to have been extricated from his cramped quarters, but the look that Elrond gave him was almost enough to make him seek for another small hole in which to hide.  Fortunately for Estel, however, Elrond intended to chastise him later, in private, and for now confined himself to ordering Estel to report to Edwen Nana forthwith and without delay.

"You will take your bath," he said, a dangerous look upon his face, "and don't you dare ask Nana to reheat the water.  She ought not to have to go to such trouble, and a dunking in frigid water is no more than you deserve!"

As Elrond spoke, Thranduil had to struggle to keep a straight face.  He knew perfectly well that, whether or not Estel asked, Edwen Nana would reheat the water.  Of course, he was right.  Obedient to Elrond, Estel did not beg for the water to be reheated, but the boy nevertheless found himself soaking luxuriously in a warm bath to which Edwen had added soothing salts and fragrant oils.  It was noted by some that from this day forward Estel began to change his opinion toward baths, although he never became as fond of them as Legolas (but who could have?).

Legolas himself walked alongside Estel to make sure that the boy did not become 'lost' on the way to Edwen Nana's chambers.  The Elf could not forbear chaffing Estel a little—but only a _very_ little, for the lad was truly chastened.

"You were lately complaining that my ears are too sensitive.  Had they not been, you would have been imprisoned several hours longer, for it was I who heard you crying out from afar."

Estel was grateful and did not try to hide it.

"Hannon le, mellon-nîn.  Hannon le!"

"You are very welcome, Estel," Legolas said kindly.  "You may perhaps be glad to know that I was once in the selfsame predicament."

"Were you!?"

"Aye, and mayhap my case was the harder—for I was wearing no clothes."

"You were naked!"

"I have said so," said Legolas gravely, but his eyes were dancing.  "Moreover, I was pulled out as filthy as you—mayhap filthier!"

"Were you bathed by Edwen Nana?"

"No, my fate was far worse.  I was bathed by Elrond and Glorfindel, who poured bucket after bucket of water over my head.  They were not gentle!  The water came straight from a well, by the way, and was far colder than the water that is drawn from the Forest River."

"Thank you for telling me this story," Estel said, brightening as he realized that he was not the only one to have gotten into such a scrape.  "Legolas, you are a true friend.  When I am older, I hope we shall go about together.  I know of no one whose fellowship I should prefer to yours!"

"It is very kind of you to say that," replied Legolas, "and I feel likewise.  To fellowship!"

"Yes," echoed Estel.  "To fellowship!"


	15. The Eye Of The Dragon

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_ the Dedicated.**

_Jebb__:_ Thank you.  Details from both The Hobbit and LOTR will be woven into this chapter.

_Gilraen: _Legolas' hair is growing in even as I type—I swear upon the star of Ëarendil!

_Farflung__:_ Have you ever seen the spoof of the Gap commercial Orlando Bloom was in?  It featured the 'Gap' of Rohan and showed the Fellowship fleeing through Moria pursued by Orcs to the same music that was used when Orlando and his girlfriend were being chased by fans in the commercial.

_Arwen Undomiel: _Yes, I do owe you a story!

_Grumpy: _Yes, it is amazing how children can get themselves stuck in small spaces and odd corners.

_Kelly Kragen: _Thanks both for catching the problem with Estel's hair and for being so encouraging. 

_Silent Banshee: _Says _Silent Banshee_,"What's this?  An English professor caught off her guard?"      I shall try to be more discreet in the future as I compose each discrete chapter! 

_Kitsune__: _Yes, fellowship and The Fellowship are wonderful things.

_Silver badger: _Yes, these are Dwarves from The Hobbit.

_Azure Dragoness:  _The story of how Legolas became trapped in a badger hole is in Chapter 1 of "Elfling Retribution."  Hope you enjoy it!

_Joee__: _Yes, life is altogether unfair when one is a small boy.

_Athena Diagon Cat: _Imagine creatures crawling and creeping over you while you are trapped in pitch darkness.  _Shudder!_

_Dragonfly: _In fiction, the odds are quite good!

After Estel had departed with Legolas, Thranduil respectfully thanked the four Dwarves and escorted them to his presence chamber.  There he bade the Dwarves be seated and with his own hands poured each a glass of his finest Dorwinion wine.

"The hour is late," he said.  "You must remain as my guests."

"Guests?" said Bofur a little skeptically.  "Your pardon, my Lord, but could I trouble you to define that term, 'guests', pre-cise-ly?"

Thranduil laughed.

"I assure you, Master Dwarf, that by 'guests' I mean as honored visitors to the Great Hall, housed in quarters in the family wing and fed and fêted most magnificently."

The Dwarves found this prospect appealing—especially the promise of being fed magnificently.  It takes a lot of provender to satisfy the appetite of a Dwarf.  Dwarves may be short, but they are muscular and expend a lot of energy in tunneling through earth and stone.  They rarely turn down an invitation to dine, and like Hobbits think nothing of a second breakfast or a third lunch.

Gilglîr sent word to the kitchen, and before too long a procession of servants arrived carrying various platters and tureens.  Legolas returned from having conveyed Estel into the hands of Edwen Nana, and the Imladris Elves were sent for.  Soon a companionable group sat down before a table that did indeed 'groan' with the weight of the food.  It fact, the trestle table creaked so alarmingly that Gilglîr made a note to himself to have it reinforced before any other like celebrations.

Thranduil's definition of 'guests' had indeed been 'spot on', and the Dwarves began to feel themselves well-recompensed for their trouble.  At first there was little conversation, for both Elves and Dwarves ate with the enthusiasm that came from a meal having been long delayed, but at length all were satisfied.  The Elves leaned back in their chairs, slowly sipping the last of the Dorwinion.  As for the Dwarves, they pulled out their pipes and commenced puffing and blowing smoke rings.  The Elves were familiar with this odd behavior because of their friendship with Mithrandir, and they did not comment upon the peculiar practice.  Allowances had to be made for the customs of other folk, and, as Thranduil had said, the Dwarves were honored guests.  All the more reason for ignoring the smoke that was drifting throughout the chamber.  Instead, Tawarmaenas began to eagerly question the Dwarves about the latest news from Erebor.  Elrond and Glorfindel, too, joined in the conversation, for they were greatly curious about that place, having heard from Mithrandir a partial account of the Lonely Mountain and its history, including the Battle of the Five Armies.  Legolas, however, held himself aloof from the conversation.  His only encounter with Dwarves had taken place when he had first journeyed from Mirkwood to Rivendell, and it had not gone well.  He therefore harbored a distrust of those folk.  He had hoped that he would never again find himself in the company of a Dwarf, and now perforce he had had to dine with four of them.

At length, however, even Legolas had a reason to pay keen attention to the conversation.  Tawarmaenas was begging Thranduil to allow the younger Elves to accompany the Dwarves upon their return to Lake-town to resume their interrupted trade negotiations.

"Uncle, Elladan and Elrohir have only seen Esgaroth from afar, and then only from the back of a barrel.  Even Legolas has not yet entered the town itself."

"Even though your hair has begun to grow back," Thranduil pointed out, "you are still scarcely presentable."

"We could keep our hoods up, my Lord," Elrohir suggested.

"Aye, see that you do," declared Elrond.  "When I go among Men, I do not want to hear them singing 'The Ballad of the Bald Elf'!"

Bifur and Bofur, Dori and Nori, who had politely refrained from commenting upon the baldness of the younger Elves, now could not help but chortle.  Elladan, Elrohir, and Tawarmaenas didn't mind, but Legolas had to counterfeit politeness.  Inside, he was seething.  He was predisposed to think ill of Dwarves, and their laughter at (he thought) his expense gave him an excuse to dislike them all the more.

Still, he was not going to turn down a chance to visit Esgaroth, even if it did mean that he would have to share a boat with a Dwarf.  His interest piqued, he listened intently to most of the remainder of the conversation.  His attention wandered a little, however, whenever the discussion turned from Esgaroth to the small doings and domestic triumphs of the Dwarves.  Elrond had met these four Dwarves and their companions when, in the company of Gandalf and a Periannath, they had rested at Rivendell on their way from the Shire to the Lonely Mountain.  He was anxious to know how all the company had fared since that time so many years ago.

"Thorin Oakenshield, as you know, died in the Battle of the Five Armies and was laid to rest under the Lonely Mountain," said Bifur somberly.

"Yes, Mithrandir and the Periannath brought word of that when they came to Rivendell on their return journey.  They also relayed the deaths of Lord Thorin's sister sons, Fili and Kili.  They fought loyally."

"Aye," said Dori proudly.  "They would not go from his side, even after he had been mortally wounded.  Long will they be remembered amongst our people."

"And amongst other Free Folk as well," Elrond pointed out.

The Dwarves looked at him gratefully.

"Of the survivors of that great battle," Elrond went on, "you four at least have prospered, for your garments and your girth plainly tell the tale.  How fare the others?"

"Dwalin has done very well," said Nori, "and Bombur has mayhap done _too_ well!"

"Too well?  How could that be?"

"Our cousin has grown so fat," exclaimed Bofur, laughing, "that it takes six strong young Dwarves to move him!"

Tawarmaenas grinned.  He remembered Bombur from the time he had visited Erebor in the company of his uncle.

"And Balin has flourished as well," Bofur continued, "but he is exceedingly restless."

"Ambitious," corrected Bifur.

"Well, yes," conceded Bofur, "ambitious, too, I suppose."

"And," added Dori, "although folks are wrong to say that all Dwarves are greedy, in Balin's case, it is, alas, true!"

"And it is not just greed for wealth," Nori chimed in.  "Balin is also overly desirous of fame."

Elrond raised his eyebrows.  These were strong words indeed!

"For several years," Bofur went on, "Balin has been badgering King Dain for permission to depart Erebor.  He wishes to journey to Moria.  He would reoccupy Dwarrowdelf and reopen the mithril mines.  It is true that those diggings are very rich, but many Dwarves believe that the time has not yet come to reenter Khazad-dûm.   Most Dwarves believe that we should consolidate our forces around the Lonely Mountain.  It is likely, however, that Dain will soon grant Balin permission to do as he likes.  The King is quite worn down by Balin's constant entreaties!"

"No doubt Balin will leave soon," Bifur agreed, "but I wish he would not take Oin and Ori with him!"

"Aye," agreed Dori.  "Those two have no interest in riches and fame, but they will go with Balin out of love and loyalty."

The four Dwarves sighed and looked very low.  Elrond decided to turn the discussion.

"You have not mentioned Gloin.  How does he fare?"

All four Dwarves burst into laughter."

"Gloin," chortled Nori, "has been domesticated."

Elrond raised one eyebrow.

"Domesticated?"

"Aye," said Nori.  "He dotes on his son Gimli."

"Gimli," chuckled Bifur, "is a paragon among Dwarves."

"The epitome of a Dwarf," added Bofur with mock solemnity.

"Nay, the archetype!" declared Nori,"

"No, no, no!" exclaimed Dori.  "He is the quintessential Naugrim!"

All the Dwarves were laughing uproariously by now.  At length, however, they began to recover.

"It must be conceded," said Bifur, "that Gimli is growing up to be a very fine Dwarf."

"A truly Dwarfly dwarf," agreed Bofur.

"He is well-formed, strong, brave, and hard-working," observed Nori.

"Aye," said Nori, "his only flaw—if flaw it be—is a birthmark on the inside of his right forearm.  Looks like elvish script, actually."

"But that is a trifle," added Bifur.

"Meaningless," agreed Bofur.

Legolas looked resentfully at the chortling Dwarves.  _He _had a birthmark on the inside of his right arm, one which very much looked like the elvish word for 'nine'.  How _dare_ this Gimil or Glimli, or whatever his name was, have one, too!?

You may be sure that the feast did not end soon enough for Legolas!  At last, however, the younger Elves were dismissed and retired to Legolas' room to discuss the morrow's expedition.

"We shall have to ask Bain son of Bard to guide us out to the spot where the old dragon Smaug plunged into the Long Lake," Tawarmaenas said.  "It is a magnificent sight!  The worm was immense, and his bones are encrusted with jewels that sparkle with the movement of the water."

Elrohir was surprised.

"The Lake-men have not salvaged the jewels?  From the tales we have heard in Rivendell, they would have made a mighty treasure."

Tawarmaenas shook his head.

"Oh, no, the Lake-men only venture near the spot upon occasion and would never presume to disturb the dragon's bones.  They say that the water above the dragon is inexplicably cold even on the warmest summer day, and they believe this to be a sign that the treasure is accursed.  They swear that evil would befall anyone so foolhardy as to swim down to the bottom and lay hand upon any of the jewels or gold pieces."

As Legolas listened to his cousin, the desire to defy the superstitions of Men arose in his heart.  "My father," he thought to himself, "loves gold and jewels and all things precious and rare.  How pleased he should be if I were to bring back a piece from Smaug's hoard!"  He resolved then and there that on the morrow he should brave the waters of the Long-lake and retrieve some pretty bauble or another to present to his father upon his return to the Great Hall.

The next morning, notwithstanding his dislike of Dwarves, it was with great eagerness that Legolas climbed into a boat with one of those folk.  Paddling with the current, it was not long before he and the others arrived at Esgaroth.  Elves and Dwarves went together to the dwelling of King Bard.  There, Tawarmaenas was disappointed to learn that Bain son of Bard was absent upon an errand to the Lonely Mountain.

"Ah, well," said Tawarmaenas after they had left the presence of King Bard, "I have seen the resting place of Smaug.  I can guide us to that spot."

The Elves returned to their boats and, with Tawarmaenas in the lead, made their way to the place where Smaug had fallen.  Steadying their boats with their paddles, they gazed into the depths of the clear water.

"Tawarmaenas, you spoke the truth," exclaimed Elladan.  "'Tis truly a magnificent sight!"

"Aye," agreed Elrohir.  "He is even larger than I imagined, and the jewels and gold shimmer like the feathers of a hummingbird!"

Legolas said nothing, but he began to unfasten his tunic.

"Legolas, what are you doing?" asked Tawarmaenas.  "A cool breeze blows across the lake this day.  You will be chilled."

Legolas still said nothing.  He removed his tunic and began to unlace his boots.

"Legolas," exclaimed Tawarmaenas, alarmed now.  "You don't mean to enter the water, do you!?"

"I do," said Legolas shortly, "and I am going to prise a jewel from the bones of that worm, a fine gemstone that will be a present for my father.  He has done much for me, and I have given him nothing in return."

Elladan and Elrohir looked uneasily one at the other.  Should they try to stop Legolas?  Elrohir cleared his throat.

"Mellon-nîn, I think that would be most unwise.  What of the curse?"

"Surely you don't believe such Mannish nonsense," scoffed Legolas.  He had his boots off now and was stripping off his leggings.  He looked up and caught the guarded expressions upon the faces of his friends.  Seizing his paddle, with a few swift strokes he put himself beyond their immediate reach.  Then he dropped the paddle and swiftly dove into the water, almost overturning the boat in his haste.

For a moment, Elladan, Elrohir, and Tawarmaenas stared at the rocking boat, then they drove their own boats near.  Elladan and Tawarmaenas anxiously looked down into the water.  For his part, Elrohir began to rapidly strip off his boots, tunic, and leggings.

"There he is!" exclaimed Tawarmaenas.  "He is making for the dragon's skull.  He is a strong swimmer, I see.  Mayhap there is in fact nothing to fear."

Relieved, Elladan nodded.

"Yes, it is not so far to the bottom.  He will reach the carcass, seize some jewel that strikes his fancy, and come back up straightaway."

So it seemed.  Swimming quickly, Legolas neared the dragon.  He was nowhere close to being out of breath as he reached the skull, drawn by a sparkling gem that had fallen into the dragon's eye socket.  But just as he stretched out his hand to take it, he gave a kick and drew back a little.  Strange, the jewel glittered as if it were the eye of the dragon.  For a fleeting moment, Legolas thought the dragon about to spring back to life.  He hesitated a moment, arms and legs moving rhythmically to hold his position.  He was beginning to feel pressure upon his chest and knew that he could not remain under water much longer.  Shaking off his trepidation, he swam forward again, reached out, and lay hold of the jewel.

At once he gave a great kick and made for the surface, but he felt as if he were bearing a great weight.  He seemed to be moving with agonizing slowness, and his chest began to feel as if it would burst.  Suddenly terrified, he tried to open his hand to discard the gemstone, but instead of his having gripped the jewel, it seemed as if _it_ had a grip upon _him_.  He could not force his fingers to unclench.  And now he had no air left to speak of.  Bubbles burst forth from his mouth and nose, and he flailed his arms frantically, the world about him darkening.

Just at that moment Elladan and Tawarmaenas heard a splash and turned to see Elrohir's boat rocking.  Elrohir swam rapidly down toward Legolas, but by the time he reached him, the Mirkwood Elf was already unconscious.  Elrohir wrapped one arm around his friend's waist and struggled to reach the surface.  But by the Valar, Legolas was heavy!  Divining the reason, with his free hand, Elrohir grasped Legolas' wrist and bent it back sharply, breaking Legolas' grip.  The jewel dropped toward the bottom of the lake.  Eerily, it once again came to rest in the eye socket from which Legolas had lately seized it.

Elrohir, however, gave no thought to the fate of the jewel.  As soon as the gemstone fell from Legolas' hand, Elrohir felt as if a great weight had been lifted, and the two shot up toward the air.  As soon as they broke the surface of the water, Elladan reached for Legolas' limp arms and pulled him into his boat.

"He's not breathing, Elrohir!" he shouted.

"Wrap your arms around his waist and give a sudden squeeze," called Tawarmaenas, who had seen an elfling who had fallen into the river brought back in this fashion.

Elladan obeyed these instructions, and Legolas immediately vomited forth a great quantity of water.  His eyes remained closed, but his chest began to rise and fall.

"Now let us make for Lake-town," shouted Tawarmaenas.

"Nay," Elrohir shouted back.  "We should return at once to the Great Hall.  Our father is wise in the ways of healing.  We must bring Legolas to him as quickly as we may."

Elrohir scrambled into the boat with Elladan and Legolas so that they could paddle in tandem.  They would be swifter so.  Tawarmaenas came after in his boat.  With no passenger, he had no difficulty keeping up.  Elrohir and Legolas' boats they abandoned.  Let the Lake-men have them; they cared naught.

Even though they were paddling against the current, their fear for Legolas gave them strength, and they made rapid progress.  When they reached the rapids and had to portage, Elrohir slung Legolas over his shoulder while Elladan and Tawarmaenas hauled the boats.  They practically ran across the portage trail.

When they reached the landing near the Great Hall, Tawarmaenas raced ahead to bring word to Thranduil and Elrond, while Elladan and Elrohir bore Legolas.  Once alerted by Tawarmaenas, the older Elves hastened to meet them, bringing with them a bier upon which they placed the unconscious Elf.  Moving swiftly but carefully, they soon reached Legolas' room.  Placing Legolas upon his bed, they covered him with many blankets.  The Elf's eyes were still closed, but he breathed steadily, and his lips, which had been blue when Elladan had dragged him into the boat, were now a healthy pink.  Thranduil, however, was frantic to see the eyes of his son.

"You must do something, Elrond," he begged the Lord of Imladris.

"Athelas," said Elrond.  "He must breathe the vapors of that sweet plant.  Ever it revives those who labor under an ill spell."

At once servants were dispatched to gather as much athelas as they might, and so zealous were they in performing that task that the environs of the Great Hall were bare of that fragrant weed for many a month.  But before any servants could return, Edwen Nana hurried the room bearing the dried leaves of that plant.  She always had some to hand, for one never knew when one of her charges would get into a scrape.  Thranduil thanked her profusely while Elrond cast the dried leaves into a pot of boiling water.  Dried or fresh, there is great virtue in that plant, and as its aroma filled the room, Legolas began to stir.  He moaned a little and then opened his eyes, looking about in a daze.  Suddenly he cried out, "The eye!  The eye!" and flung his arms over his face.

"Shhhh, Legolas," Elrond soothed him.  "There are no eyes here but ours.  And yours, which we would very much like to see."

Slowly Legolas drew his arms awhile from his face and gazed upon his friends and kin.

"I thought that the dragon had come back and that his eye pierced my soul!"

"Legolas," cried Thranduil, "you did not go near Smaug!?"

"Aye, I did," Legolas admitted sheepishly.

"Whatever possessed you!?  I hope you were not seized by the love of treasure!  For then it would indeed be true that you have been transfixed by the eyes of the dragon!"

"It wasn't exactly like that, Ada," Legolas said slowly.  "'Tis true that I desired to lay my hands upon a piece of Smaug's treasure, but only because I wished to bring it to you as a gift."

"Legolas," said Thranduil softly, "know you not that for me there is only one treasure?  Everything else is but a trinket."

Shamefaced, Legolas replied equally softly.

"I am sorry, Ada.  I should have understood that."

"Enough speech," Elrond broke in.  "Legolas must rest.  Let us all depart so that he may do so."

The Elves then left the room save for Edwen Nana.  She folded her arms across her chest and stared fixedly at Thranduil and Elrond with a look that defied them to try and move her.  Between them, those two Elves possessed enough wisdom to know that they had better not make the attempt.  And so they retreated, leaving Edwen Nana in full possession of the field.

Several days later, when Legolas had fully recovered, Gilglîr came to his chamber to speak privately with him.

"Legolas, there is something you must know about your father's treasury, for one day you shall inherit it."

Since the incident at the lake, Legolas had not been eager to hear the word 'treasure' or any variation thereof, but he nodded dutifully.  His responsibilities could not be avoided.  Gilglîr beckoned for him to follow, and the two descended many steps until they reached the room that Legolas remembered from his childhood as having been devoted to his father's great store of gold and gemstones.  Legolas was surprised to see that no guards stood on duty before the chamber.  Nor was the door locked.  How could this be?  Legolas saw the reason at once when Gilglîr swung open the door, which groaned upon hinges that had not been oiled in a very long time.  The room was empty.  Not one glass bead, not one brass coin lay within the chamber.  Perplexed, Legolas gazed inquiringly at the Seneschal.

"Legolas, during the battle for Dol Guldur a great many Elves were injured, and several were killed outright.  Upon his return to the Great Hall, your father ordered that his treasure be disbursed for the care of the injured Elves and to support the families of those who had been slain.  It was at this time that Edwen Nana returned to the Hall, for your father took her back into his employ so that she might sew for the ellith who were otherwise occupied with caring for the injured and the maimed."

Elves are known for their eloquence, but Legolas was now utterly speechless.

"So, you see, Legolas, a jewel, even one from the hoard of the great Smaug, would be of no interest to your father.  He long ago learned what is of value in Middle Earth, and what is not."

Legolas nodded.  He could still find no words to express his feelings—a mix of awe and shame and love.  Gilglîr understood.  Smiling kindly, he turned to leave the young Elf to his thought.  But as he was walking away, he paused a moment and called over his shoulder.

"Legolas, there is _one_ gift that you could give your father."

Legolas found his voice—well, partially, anyway.

"Yes?" he said faintly.

"Grow your hair out," called Gilglîr, "and do not cut it again!  _That_ would please your father!"

Legolas began to recover his equanimity.

"Aye, I could do that," he called back.  "And then," he added teasingly, "I shall dye it—I had thought fuchsia would be striking."

"Oh, you _are_ a gem," Gilglîr retorted dryly.  "I see why Thranduil treasures you so!"

Laughing and shaking his head, Gilglîr departed, leaving behind a young Elf both happy and thoughtful.

"My Ada," Legolas said to himself contentedly, "my Ada is the one who is the treasure!  His coffers are empty but his heart is full!"

His own heart full, Legolas strode singing from the empty treasury.  Never again would gold or jewels have any power over his soul.  If someone had offered him the most valuable treasure in the world, perchance a ring of massy gold, shimmering and flawless, he would have rejected it forthwith.  Like his father, he had learned what was of value in Middle Earth, and what not. 


	16. Strange Brew

**Beta reader: _Dragonfly_ the Discerning. By the way, _Dragonfly_, I was indeed thinking of ****Troy**** when I composed the discussion between Erestor and Rúmil.**

_Kelly Kragen: _Ai! There will only be references to Estel in this chapter. But fear not! Estel shall reappear!

_Grumpy: _Sweet of him, yes, but foolish.

_Athena Diagon Cat: _Yes, so far I've managed to get in Ian McKellan's, Orlando Bloom's, Viggo Mortensen's, and John Rhys-Davies (although I understand that it is Rhys-Davies' size double who got the tattoo). I missed an opportunity to slip in Elijah Wood's tattoo when I had Anomen fish him out of the Brandywine River, but I am going to go back and revise that chapter. There will be more about the tattoo/birthmark in this chapter. Erestor is starting to catch on as to its significance, although his conclusions will not be correct in every detail.

_SilentBanshee__: _As I mention above to _Kelly Kragen_, Estel doesn't get much play in this chapter, but he will in a future one. I am glad that you like Tawarmaenas!

_Joee__: _Thanks for the observation about the cloak. I'll go back in and have him toss it aside before he begins removing his tunic.

_Dragonfly: _Yes, we're talking irony here considering Legolas' future friendship with Gimli.

_Karri: _Thank you!

_Jebb__: _No, I hadn't noticed that mysterious metamorphosis. I have gone back in and changed the Elves back into Dwarves. Thank you for drawing that to my attention.

Gandalf strode restlessly back and forth across the talan where he and Erestor had been staying for the past several weeks whilst the tutor recovered from his illness and made a start toward growing out his hair.

"Mithrandir," complained Erestor, "you are making me dizzy. Whenever will you cease your pacing!?"

Gandalf paused.

"Your pardon, Erestor. I had not realized that I was doing it again. Yet I must do something. I cannot stand by whilst Legolas is in peril. Ah, I have it—my pipe!"

Erestor groaned, but Gandalf knelt by his pack and began to rummage about for the pipe which he had acquired to replace the one broken in the Misty Mountains when he had been seized by one of Sauron's minions. Strangely, though, he could not find it. At length he dumped the contents of his bag onto the flooring and spread them out. No pipe. He looked accusingly at Erestor.

"Have you made away with my pipe!?"

"What would _I_ want with that foul object?" Erestor retorted.

"Oh, you wouldn't want it for yourself, I know, but I shouldn't put it past you to hide or destroy it so that I couldn't indulge myself in pipeweed."

"I wouldn't," said Erestor, "but if someone did, far be it from me to have stood in the way."

"Hmm," mused Gandalf. "Haldir and his brothers have but lately returned from Mirkwood. I suspect one of them had a hand in the disappearance of my pipe. Orophin is perhaps too diffident and Haldir too proper to have taken it. It is that scamp Rúmil who is responsible, I'll wager. Sometimes I think he and Elrohir should have been twins!"

One look at Erestor, who had put on a most innocent expression, convinced Gandalf of the truth of his supposition.

"So," he crowed, "Rúmil did take it, and you stood by—or mayhap you commissioned the act!"

"I may have encouraged him a little bit," admitted Erestor, "but I did not 'commission' him."

"Hmmph!" snorted Gandalf, "precious little difference in my mind between 'encouraging' and 'commissioning'—and you, fond as you are of word play, know that to be so. Now, where has he hidden it!?"

"I do not know," said Erestor petulantly—he had, after all, been confined with the wizard for several weeks. "Why don't you have a look at Galadriel's mirror," he sniggered, "and see if you can find out that way."

"Erestor, you know perfectly well that the mirror is no trinket to be played with! It is to be consulted over matters of import."

"Which," said Erestor triumphantly, "a pipe is not!"

Erestor had him there, and Gandalf was forced to subside. He picked up a stick and stuck it between his teeth, turning it over and over in his mouth. Erestor thought the wizard looked silly mouthing a stick, but he forbore mentioning that fact. As long as Mithrandir had something to gnaw upon, mayhap he would remain quiet! Ai! That was not to be so! After chewing on the stick for several minutes, Gandalf cast it aside and once again began to restlessly pace about the talan.

"Mithrandir," said Erestor coaxingly, "perhaps it would settle your nerves if you were to explain what it is that troubles you. You said something about Legolas being in peril. How is it that he could be in peril when he is Mirkwood surrounded by his kin and his friends?"

"I had a vision," mused Gandalf, "and in it I saw Legolas in deep water, struggling under a great weight."

"Mithrandir," said Erestor soothingly, "both the phrase 'in deep water' and 'struggling under a great weight' are liable to figurative interpretations. Legolas may not be in any physical danger."

Gandalf stopped and answered sharply. "Need a peril be physical for it to be grievous?"

Erestor conceded that point and watched anxiously as Gandalf resumed pacing.

"Mithrandir," he ventured at last, "perhaps we should make our way back to Mirkwood. It wouldn't do any harm, and it might do some good—at the very least it will save the floor of this flet from having a track worn into it from your incessant pacing!"

Gandalf looked at Erestor gratefully.

"You would not mind returning to Mirkwood? Your hair, after all, has not grown completely back."

Erestor shrugged.

"No, but surely it must be longer than those of the young Elves, for they lost their hair altogether. I shall not suffer by comparison!"

"Erestor, you are a gem among Elves."

"I know," replied Erestor insouciantly.

Gandalf rolled his eyes in mock astonishment.

"Always so modest, Erestor," the wizard declared dryly. Then he went in search of Galadriel and Celeborn to inform them that he and Erestor would be departing on the morrow.

"Are you sure this is necessary?" Celeborn said gravely. "I have just sent all available scouts to the western border because a large party of Orcs has been sighted in the Misty Mountains. I can spare only a few Elves to escort you."

"Ah," said Gandalf blithely, "if Orcs have been sighted to the west, and we are heading east, we won't in fact require much of an escort, will we?"

"That is silly logic," said Galadriel with unaccustomed severity. "The presence of Orcs to the west does not preclude the presence of another band to the east."

"Your pardon," said Gandalf. "My levity was inappropriate. Who can you spare to escort us?'

Celeborn considered.

"I could delegate Rúmil and place a handful of Elves under his command."

The wizard's eyes gleamed.

"Excellent!" he gloated. "I should very much like to have Rúmil along on this trip!"

Galadriel suppressed a smile. Even when she was not looking in her mirror, very little escaped her. She was certain that she knew why Mithrandir was pleased that Rúmil would be amongst the party. Poor Rúmil! No doubt the company would not have traveled far before Rúmil would be forced to produce the wizard's pipe.

On the morrow, Gandalf and Erestor, accompanied by Rúmil and five other scouts, headed east.

"I think," said Gandalf briskly as they left the trees of Lothlórien behind them, "that we needn't stop at Beorn's settlement this time. Let us make our way directly toward Mirkwood."

Rúmil was disappointed. He was happy that he would soon be reunited with Legolas, Elladan, and Elrohir, but Beorn, although a formidable host, was also a generous one. Rúmil had been looking forward to the prospect of feasting at his table.

"Yes," continued Gandalf later that day after they had made camp and supped, "journeying straight to Mirkwood would be best. Normally I would wish to visit Beorn, but I feel too edgy to take the time to do so on this journey. Pity I can't indulge myself in a bit of pipeweed. 'Twould do my nerves good to sit back and take a long pull upon the stem of my pipe, but, alas, I seem to have mislaid it. And, as I cannot find it, I am so restless that we had better just push on with no breaks for merriment at Beorn's settlement, not to mention his excellent bread and his inestimable honey and butter."

Gandalf arose.

"Good-night, Erestor," he said cheerfully. "Good-night, Rúmil."

After Gandalf had retired to his bedroll, Rúmil glared at Erestor, but the tutor would not meet his eye. Instead, he arose and hastily bade the company good-night as well.

Gandalf slept soundly until morning—he and Erestor were of course exempt from taking a turn on watch. At dawn the wizard arose in as cheerful a frame of mind as when he had retired. Whistling a tuneless song, he picked up his boot, and smiled broadly when he heard something rattle about within it. Turning over the boot, he was delighted when out fell the pipe.

"Remarkable!" he declared. "Last night I was wishing for my pipe, and this morning here it is. Truly my magic grows more powerful each day that passes. Doesn't it seem that way to you, Rúmil, eh?" he said with a wink.

Rúmil looked a little silly.

"Um, yes, Mithrandir, your ability to control a situation is truly remarkable," the young Elf said meekly.

Mithrandir pulled a brand from the campfire and made a great show of lighting his pipe. After a few puffs, he sent a vaporous horse galloping toward Rúmil.

"Oft a new morning brings new counsel," observed the wizard. "I think we shall stop at Beorn's settlement after all. What say you, Rúmil?"

"I defer to your wisdom in all matters, Lord Mithrandir," said Rúmil, his tone respectful but his face eager.

"Well, well, in that case, let us make for the dwelling of the Shape Changer."

With a flourish, the wizard returned the pipe to his mouth.

Relieved that the matter was at an end, Rúmil saw to the breaking of the camp and marshaled his small band of scouts. Before too long they were cantering in the direction of Beorn's land. Suddenly, however, the scout in the lead gave a shout and held up his hand, signaling to the others to halt. He dismounted and crouched down, carefully studying something at his feet. Rúmil likewise dismounted and, bidding his horse remain behind, he strode forward to join the lead scout.

"Rúmil," exclaimed that Elf, "I have never seen tracks such as these."

Rúmil wrinkled his forehead.

"Nor have I. 'Tis a small creature, not even as large as a Dwarf, I think. It is two-footed like a Dwarf or a Man or an Elf. The marks are splay-footed, but these are clearly neither the prints of hooves nor claws. See, you can make out five toes here, from the small to the big, and the foot is arched. Yet it would appear that the creature was scrambling about on its hands as well as its feet. Look at these marks here," he said, pointing to several hand prints. Bewildered, he shook his head.

"An upright creature yet not so," he mused. "Here is a riddle."

He arose and beckoned to Gandalf to join them.

"Mithrandir," he called as the wizard approached, "you have traveled throughout Middle Earth. Have you ever seen such tracks as these?"

In all the years that Rúmil had known Gandalf, he had never seen him look shocked, but there was no denying that such an expression flashed across the wizard's face at the sight of the splay-footed tracks. Almost immediately, however, the wizard regained command of his countenance.

"These tracks are heading south," the wizard observed, his voice trembling just a little with suppressed excitement and anxiety. "We must follow."

"And Legolas?" said Rúmil.

"That errand must wait. Here is a peril more immediate."

With amazing speed for a Man who appeared so agéd, Gandalf ran back to his horse and leaped upon it, reining it about and immediately setting out in a southerly direction, leaning down beside the horse's neck as he rode, examining the ground with a keenness that would have done credit to a Ranger. The others scrambled to their horses and raced to catch up.

For hours they rode in this fashion, Gandalf in the lead, intent upon the mysterious trail. Suddenly he gave an exclamation and pulled up. Leaping from his horse, he bent down to examine a new trail that now overlay the old one. These were the marks of creatures who had come from the west, from the Misty Mountains, and had now turned south, in pursuit, evidently, of the very creature that Gandalf hunted.

"Yrch," hissed Rúmil.

"Aye," said Gandalf, "Orcs from the Misty Mountains."

For a moment, Rúmil saw real fear in the wizard's eyes.

"The Orcs must not lay hold of him," he muttered. "I misdoubt he will bring great evil upon us if they learn what he knows."

"What does he know?" asked Erestor, confused.

"I do not know that myself, mellon-nîn," Gandalf replied enigmatically. "I only know what I fear he knows."

"You speak in riddles!" exclaimed Erestor.

"Of course. I am a wizard. What did you expect? But enough chatter. I must ride on."

"Mount up," Rúmil called to his scouts, who stood by their horses awaiting orders.

"Nay!" said Gandalf. "I ride on alone."

"But, Mithrandir," cried Rúmil in bewilderment, "by these marks you would ride in pursuit of at least a dozen foes. Should you catch up with them, you would become the hunted rather than the hunter."

"Not 'would', 'may'," Gandalf corrected him. "Do not forget that I am Gandalf the Grey. I do have some strength at my command—not to mention tricks up my sleeve."

"Nevertheless," said Rúmil said stubbornly, "I will not let you go on alone."

"_You_ will not _let_ me? You will not let _me_?"

"No I will not," Rúmil declared stoutly, although, truth be told, he was astonished at his temerity. He had just told a Maia that he was not to wander off alone.

"Um, Mithrandir," Erestor interjected nervously, "you do remember that one time in the Misty Mountains when you went off by yourself and were captured—oh, never mind," he finished hastily at the wrathful expression on Gandalf's face.

The wizard, however, suddenly seemed to undergo a change of feeling.

"Well, well," he said. "Perhaps you are right. Wouldn't want to do anything rash now, would I?"

Rúmil exhaled in relief. That had been a dodgy moment if ever there were one. The entire company remounted and rode on to the south. They did not halt until the last rays of the sun had vanished and they could no longer see the trail. There was no moon that night. They dismounted and made camp but kindled no fires. Gandalf took out his pipe but did not light it. He turned it around and around in his hands. At length he arose and went to Rúmil. He spoke in the kindly voice that Rúmil was much more accustomed to than the commanding one he had used earlier.

"Rúmil, my lad, you must pardon me if some of my words and actions appear rash and overbearing from time to time. I assure that I do have my reasons, although it is generally best if I do not discuss them with you or anyone else. Would it comfort you to know that I do not always share my mind even with the head of my order?"

"I do not doubt your reasons, Mithrandir. I merely fear for your safety."

"That is very kind of you, Rúmil. You may be sure that I will not take any needless risks."

"Why must you take any risks at all?" said Rúmil unhappily.

"Oh, and do you not take risks when you are patrolling the borders of Lothlórien?"

"Yes," admitted Rúmil, "but the risks come to me. _You_ go looking for them."

"That was the task appointed me. You would not have me neglect my duty?"

"No, but I would also not have you neglect your safety."

"It is, of course, necessary for me to remain safe in order to do my duty," said Gandalf, smiling. "If I am dead, I serve no one but the Enemy. Do not fear! I have no wish to serve the Dark Lord. Rest now, Rúmil, and I will do likewise."

Rúmil slept so deeply that afterward he wondered whether Gandalf had set a spell upon him. He awoke to Erestor's voice as that Elf urgently shook him

"Rúmil, wake up! wake up! Mithrandir is gone. His horse remains, and his bedroll and saddle bag, but his staff and the small bag he wears slung over his shoulder are gone."

Rúmil sat up abruptly. As he did so, Gandalf's pipe, which unbeknownst to him had been lying on his chest, fell into his lap. Rúmil picked it up and gazed at it in dismay.

"Why has he left you his pipe?" asked one of the scouts.

Rúmil arose to his feet and stood quietly a little while before answering. At last he spoke.

"It is his way of promising to return," he said softly.

"Aye," added Erestor pensively. "But more than that. Mithrandir will have no need of his pipe until he has come back to us, for he will not be at liberty to indulge in pipeweed in the place to which he is going. I warrant it will be days before he will even risk a fire to cook his food. I hope he carries much lembas in his pack!"

"What shall we do?" asked Rúmil. "We could follow him, or we could make for either Mirkwood or Lothlórien." To Rúmil, a visit to Beorn's settlement no longer held any appeal.

"I think," said Erestor, "that we had better not follow him. By slipping away, he has made it clear that it is not his wish that we do so. Almost I would say that we should split up, some of us carrying the news to Mirkwood, some to Lórien, but our company is too small to do so safely."

He considered a little longer.

"Here is what we shall do," he said at last. "Because we have been traveling south, we are much further from Mirkwood than from Lórien. We shall therefore return to the Golden Land. From there, Celeborn and Galadriel can dispatch messengers who will ride with all speed to Thranduil's Hall. Elrond and Glorfindel will want to know what has transpired."

"As will Legolas," Rúmil pointed out.

Erestor made a face.

"Aye, but let us hope that he can be prevented from running off this time! I should not like to think of him trying to make his way alone to the land of Mordor."

Rúmil shuddered.

"The land of Mordor! Let us hope that he will never go to that place."

Suddenly Erestor looked as if he were in a trance, his eyes looking inward rather than outward.

"Someday," he said tonelessly, "Legolas will indeed stand before the Black Gate."

"Erestor!" exclaimed Rúmil, alarmed at both the older Elf's words and his manner.

"Ah, but not today," said Erestor, resuming his usual expression and tone of voice. He shook himself like a dog shaking off water. "Brrrr. A great chill came over me just then," he said, "but it has passed."

Rúmil stared at Erestor with a mixture of awe and fear, but as that Elf had, he shook the feeling off. Quickly he and the others broke camp. As they gathered their belongings, Rúmil was delighted to notice that the leaf-wrapped packages of lembas in his pack had vanished.

"Take them and welcome, mellon-nîn," he whispered to the morning mists as he gazed toward the south before mounting his horse and heading north.

As they rode along, Rúmil thought of Erestor's odd statement about Legolas before the Black Gate. Had there been any truth to it?

"Erestor," said Rúmil cautiously, "have you looked in Galadriel's mirror?"

"As a matter of fact, she invited me into her Glade the night before we set out. Very hospitable she was."

"Hospitable?"

"Yes, she offered me a beverage. When I partook of it, methought it sweeter than even the finest Dorwinion wine. Rather strong, though."

"So it is true, then," Rúmil thought to himself, appalled. "Legolas will someday go to Mordor. But why? And when? And most important, will he return from that place?"

Aloud, Rúmil said, "Erestor, when you said a little while ago that Legolas would stand before the Black Gate—"

"What! I said no such thing!"

"But you did!"

"Stuff and nonsense! Legolas has no business to the south! Whatever would take him there?"

"Mithrandir, maybe?"

"Mithrandir!? Mithrandir would not take Legolas into danger. He is convinced that Legolas has a great destiny before him, that he is to participate in a momentous quest that will determine the fate of Middle Earth!"

"Maybe standing before the Black Gate of Mordor will be _part_ of that quest."

"Oh," Erestor said stupidly.

If the matter hadn't been so serious, Erestor would have felt silly. Instead, he felt sick at the vision of his belovéd pupil confronting the power of the Dark Lord.

"Estel!" he said suddenly.

"Estel?" repeated Rúmil, puzzled.

"Do you know that Estel has a birthmark that looks like the number nine in Elvish lettering?"

"Does he?—but Legolas has one, too!"

"Yes," said Erestor grimly, "and so does Mithrandir, on his shoulder. Legolas' destiny is in some way linked to both Estel's and Mithrandir's."

"I have never seen such a birthmark on Mithrandir," declared Rúmil skeptically.

"Of course not, you ninny! Mithrandir is not in the habit of bathing with you hellions. He prefers the chamber frequented by elders who desire to wash themselves without fear of having buckets of cold water suddenly dumped upon their heads! You will just have to take my word for it—Mithrandir and Estel and Legolas all share the selfsame birthmark."

"The letter nine in Elvish," mused Rúmil. "What could that signify? Nine years? Nine leagues? Nine battles?"

"Nine years is an insignificant length of time," said Erestor, "and nine leagues a trivial distance. More likely nine battles."

"Perhaps Dol Guldur was one."

Erestor shook his head.

"Estel did not participate in that battle. I think the battles lie in the future."

"What will Thranduil say?" Rúmil wondered.

"Do not mention this to Thranduil," warned Erestor.

"Why not?"

"Think, Rúmil! What would Thranduil do if he knew that Legolas' path will lead him to the Black Gate of Mordor?"

"Oh, _that's_ easy," declared Rúmil. "Thranduil would furnish a room in the dungeon with fine tapestries and thick carpets and ebon and gold furnishings, and that room, comfortable and elegant but a prison, would henceforth and forever be Legolas' chamber. Legolas would be allowed to venture forth only with an escort of one hundred of Thranduil's best warriors. No horseback riding, let alone barrel riding! No impulsive jaunts through the forest. No swimming in ponds with only the company of his friends."

"Yes," agreed Erestor. "Thranduil would try everything in his power to prevent Legolas from being swept up on a quest that would lead him to Mordor. But destiny should not be thwarted. It would be an ill thing for Legolas—but also for Middle Earth. If he has a mission to fulfill, then fulfill it he must."

"Erestor, I want to go with him on this mission."

"But you do not bear the birthmark. I think it will be only for those who carry that sign."

"And there are at least the three of them."

"Aye. Three that we know of. There may be more."

"I wonder," said Rúmil hopefully. "Do birthmarks ever spontaneously appear?"

"Rúmil, they are called 'birthmarks' for a reason. But do not fret. Everyone has a destiny."

"Haldir," said Rúmil thoughtfully, "has a mark on his hand that looks like a scar left from a knife wound. Galadriel has ever said that this is a portent of his future. I wish I bore some such mark!"

"One can be marked in many ways, Rúmil, not all of them visible. Legolas will go to Mordor someday; you, I think, will not. But would you have the Golden Land overwhelmed by foes so that, even should Legolas and his companions prevail, there is nothing for them to return to? That is your destiny, I deem, to be a Marchwarden of the Land of Lórien. Your strength, your vigor—ferocity, even—will serve your people well as you guard them from evil. Not for you the wandering life, but the life of a warrior fiercely determined to protect his homeland from any who might harm it. Is this so negligible a task that you would wish to abandon it?"

Thoughtfully, Rúmil shook his head.

"No, I would not—although," he admitted, "I am a little envious. No one will tell tales about a mere Marchwarden, but I am sure Legolas will be celebrated for as long as the stars still drift above the lands of Middle Earth. That sounds petty, I know, but I cannot help but be a little sorry that I will be the hero of no story."

"It is natural to desire fame," Erestor said, "and many are the warriors who have performed great deeds in part for that reason—although I think to defend one's homeland is the better motive. Still, you need not apologize. But tell me, Rúmil, are you so sure that you will figure in no tale? I would not be so certain if I were you!"

Mayhap it was the lingering effect of the brew that Galadriel had furnished Erestor when the Elf visited her Glade, but in this, as in his prediction that Legolas would journey to Mordor, the elf-lord proved to be prophetic.


	17. The Birds

**Folks, it may be awhile before I will be posting much again.  My old nemesis, the archfiend Remoin (aka Repetitive Motion Injury), has succeeded in disabling both of my little fingers and now, completely lacking in mercy, is going after my right thumb.  I'm taking industrial-strength doses of naproxen sodium, but I know if I don't stop typing, the inflammation won't subside.**

**On June 4th I am scheduled to receive a 'tablet' pc that comes equipped with voice recognition software.  I hope I am able to rapidly master the software.  I do have a little piece written for "The Clearing," and I going to tidy that up and send it off to _Dragonfly_ for a beta reading.**

**On a more cheerful note, June 11th my daughter heads to ****New York City**** to perform with her choir.  I'm going along as a chaperone.  Anyone live in or near ****New York City****?  The choir is performing at ****Trinity****Church**** (Ground Zero) on Saturday, June 12th, at ****1:00 p.m.****    If anybody happens to be in the vicinity, I'm the lady who looks like a Hobbit—short and round with curly hair ('salt and pepper' but with the 'salt' starting to win out).**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_ the Discriminating**

_Farflung__: _Don't worry about Haldir.  Remember I manage to bring him back in "The Return of the Elf."  **_Haldir Lives!_**

_Silver Badger: _Yes, the number nine represents the nine members of the Fellowship.  I got the idea for the shared birthmarks from the tattoos that the nine actors (well, eight plus Gimli's double) are supposed to sport now.

_Slivertongue__, Gilraen, _and_ Azure Dragoness: _Thank you so much for your kind words! 

_Joee__: _Haven't updated this story in several days.  Sorry.

_Athena Diagon Cat: _Thank you.  I like providing Erestor with an extra dimension or two (or three).

_Kelly Kragen: _There is a little bit of Estel in this chapter, but probably not as much as you'd like.  There will be more, I promise.

_Dragonfly: _Yes, if ever Gandalf were to be tempted to turn someone into something 'unnatural', this would have to have been the moment.  Imagine a young Elf trying to boss around a Maia!

Estel was sparring with Legolas.

"Move your feet!" instructed Glorfindel as he watched the lesson with a critical eye.  "Move your feet, Estel!"

Legolas smiled down indulgently at the little human.  Suddenly his smile vanished.  Estel had ducked underneath his guard.

"Ooooow!" Grimacing, the Elf crumpled onto the ground and drew up his legs to his chest, rocking back and forth in pain.

"Lucky for you that was a wooden sword," smirked Glorfindel.  "Else you would never have any younglings of your own!"

"I don't want any younglings of my own," scowled Legolas, recovering somewhat, although he still winced and gasped.  "And, Estel, that was a low blow."

"You never said I wasn't to hit below the belt," grinned the lad.  "It was an effective maneuver, was it not?"

"Highly effective," grumbled Legolas.  "I am very sorry for your future opponents if you continue on your present path."

"It was fair, wasn't it," Estel appealed to Glorfindel.

"Yes," agreed the balrog-slayer.  "In a battle there is no time for niceties.  You may chop off any body part you please if by doing so you disable your foe.  And I am sure that stroke of yours would indeed have disabled your foe—aye, and set the rest of your enemies fleeing in fear of receiving the same treatment at your hands!"

Estel gloated as he walked back to the Great Hall in the company of Legolas and Glorfindel.  He had never before succeeded in landing a blow on Legolas.  Of course, he reflected, it probably wouldn't happen again for a long time.  Legolas had underestimated him, a mistake he wasn't likely to repeat.

"Glorfindel," he said, "may I begin practicing with a real sword?"

"What say you, Legolas?" said the balrog-slayer.  "Is Estel here ready to practice with a sword that has a sharp point and a keen edge?"

"You had better find him another partner, then, Glorfindel, for I wish to keep _my_ point!"

"Seriously, Legolas."

"Seriously, Glorfindel, Estel has been ready for some time.  Only my desire for self-preservation has prevented me from mentioning the fact."

"Good.  Estel, we will see if Thranduil has a leather jerkin and wrist guards that would fit you, for if you are going to practice with a real sword, you will need to be better protected."

"What about me!?" exclaimed Legolas.

Glorfindel waved his hand dismissively.

"Oh, you are not in peril of losing anything _important_."

"Huh," scoffed Legolas.  "I've got a few miles left on mine yet, whereas _you_, Glorfindel—aii!"

Glorfindel made a show of cuffing the younger Elf's ears.  By then they had reached the entrance to the Great Hall, where the guards looked askance at seeing the Imladris Elf treat their Prince so.  Lord Glorfindel was, however, known to be the balrog-slayer, so the guards held their tongues, fearing they might lose them else.

Laughing and singing, Glorfindel, Estel, and Legolas proceeded to Thranduil's presence chamber, where the King of Mirkwood was engaged in conversation with Lord Elrond.

"Ada," cried Estel as they entered the room, "I landed a blow on Legolas.  Indeed, I _felled_ him, Ada!"

"You landed a blow on Prince Legolas?" said Thranduil, who was, of course, the Prince's father.

Suddenly Estel paled.  It hadn't occurred to him that the Elf he had struck was in fact a prince and heir to the throne of Mirkwood.

"Lucky you are not a commoner," continued Thranduil with a smile, "else I should have to return you to the dungeon—although, as the tunnel is much enlarged, no doubt you would soon make your way out again!"  Still smiling, Thranduil turned to Elrond.  "I think a celebration is in order.  'Tis not everyday my son is bested on the training field!"

Estel was relieved but confused.  What had Thranduil meant—'lucky you are not a commoner'?

As for Elrond, he was vexed, but he took care not to let it show.  How, he wondered, had Thranduil known of Estel's true identity?  Had Legolas told him?  Well, if so, he couldn't very well chide Legolas for speaking freely to his own father.  On the other hand, Thranduil may have simply deduced the truth.  Starting with Arahael son of Aranarth, each descendant of Isildur had been fostered in Imladris.  This fact was not generally known, and Elrond had not thought that Thranduil was aware of the practice, but he may have learned of it through a word innocently uttered by an Elf who had been traveling back and forth betwixt the three elven realms.  If Thranduil did know of the custom, when he saw a human boy in the company of Elrond, he would naturally have assumed that the child was the latest in the long line of the Dúnadain chieftains to be so fostered.  No matter how Thranduil had happened upon the truth, though, Elrond resolved to have a private word with him in order to ask him to remain silent on the matter in the future.  Outside of Elrond's immediate domestic circle, only Mithrandir, Celeborn, and Galadriel were privy to the full story behind Estel's parentage.  Even Saruman had been kept in the dark.

Elrond turned his attention back to the gathering, for gathering it had become.  Elladan, Elrohir, Gilglîr, and Tawarmaenas had arrived, and Legolas was participating in a good-natured recreation of the encounter with Estel, which was becoming more and more 'epic' in nature with every minute that passed.  Pity Mithrandir and Erestor weren't here to enjoy the spectacle—or did Elrond's eyes deceive him?

"Erestor?" he said as a familiar form materialized before him.

"Rúmil!" shouted the younger Elves.

"Mithrandir!" clamored Estel.  "Where is Mithrandir?  I've got something important to tell him!"

Erestor spoke hesitantly.

"Mithrandir is—on a quest, as is his wont."

Elrond raised his eyebrows and arose from his seat.

"Thranduil, if you would pardon me, no doubt my councilor carries messages from my kin in Lothlórien."

"Of course, Elrond.  Of course."

Elrond left the room, accompanied not only by Erestor but by Glorfindel and Rúmil as well.  When they reached Elrond's chamber, the Lord of Imladris spared only a few words for formalities.

"You are well, I hope, Erestor."

"Yes, Elrond.  I have largely recovered from both my illness and my baldness.  But never mind me."

"What news of Mithrandir?  You set out with him but return alone."

Erestor sighed.

"Elrond, I think Mithrandir must have taught Legolas everything he knows about absconding.  He gave us the slip during the night and set off for the south in pursuit of that wretched creature he has been hunting on and off for several years."

Elrond relaxed a little.

"Ah, that is not so bad.  I am certain, should Mithrandir catch up with the creature, he will be more than a match for the miserable thing."

"Yes, I am sure that Mithrandir would be able to manage the creature, but the thing itself is being pursued by Orcs, and Mithrandir will have to somehow get around or go through the band before he can lay hands on his prize."

Glorfindel leaped to his feet.

"I will set out at once, Elrond!"

Erestor shook his head.

"Glorfindel, Mithrandir has a head start of many days.  When he escaped us, we were so far south that we were within the Brown Lands.  You will not reach him in time.  No, we must await word of him."

"At least we can send out messengers to ask that all our friends watch for him and assist him should he require it," said Elrond.

"Celeborn and Galadriel have already done so," said Erestor.  "Rúmil and I went first to Lothlórien.  Arwen sends you greetings, Elrond."

Erestor pulled forth a scroll from his tunic and handed it to Elrond, who accepted it gratefully but put it aside to read later in private.  Rúmil drew forth a pipe and proffered it to the Elf Lord.

"What is this?"

"Mithrandir left behind his pipe.  He is more often in Imladris than in Lothlórien, so I thought it would be best to entrust it to you against the day of his return."

Elrond smiled.

"I am strongly tempted to toss it into the bottom of my pack so that it might be broken, but if I do so he will only procure another, I suppose, either from the Dwarves or the Periannath.  Very well.  I will safeguard it.  And now, Rúmil, no doubt you wish to rejoin your friends."

"If I may be permitted, my Lord."

"You may," said Elrond, inclining his head.

Rúmil bowed deeply, backing toward the door.  When he reached it, he vanished.

"Rúmil has yet to complete his second millennium," observed Erestor, "but in spite of his youth, he is turning into quite the responsible Elf—although I do not think he will ever be as serious-minded as Haldir."

"Let us hope not," Glorfindel remarked drolly.  "Sometimes Haldir can make a weeping willow look ecstatic."

If Haldir could have made a weeping willow look ecstatic, Gandalf at that very moment would have made one appear positively delirious with joy.  He was huddled under a rock overhang, but as the wind was driving the rain vertically, he might as well have been sitting out in the open.  He sat hunched over, knees draw up, and hat tilted forward over his face.  The rain that poured off that item created a waterfall that blocked his vision.  Fortunately, the weather was so dreadful that few foes were likely to be out wandering about.  If Mithrandir had been comfortable enough to sleep, he might have been perfectly safe.  However, he was, without a doubt, _not_ comfortable enough.

"Just as well that I left behind my pipe," he muttered, "because I could never have gotten it lit these past several days.  At least the weather has bogged down not only me but also my friends the Orcs.  Now, as for my quarry, he would just as soon slither through the mud as plod through the dust, so he has probably gone on ahead.  Fine!  I won't catch him this time, but as long as he stays out of the hands of the servants of Sauron, that will do for now."

Mithrandir had, however, underestimated both the sneakiness and the desperation of Gollum.  The creature was very, very hungry, and he had only two preferred methods of dealing with hunger—murder or theft.  Gollum knew that he was being followed by Orcs because they were so noisy.  He also knew that Orcs were stupid, lazy, and careless.  In the past, he'd done very well pinching food from Orc encampments—also on a couple of occasions pinching half-grown Orcs as well.  Nasty, but they would do when nothing else would serve.  And so he was indeed slithering through the mud at this moment—right into the Orc camp.  Like Gandalf, the Orcs were sitting with hunched shoulders, knees drawn up, scraps of cloth over their heads.  Stupefied by the cold and damp, they did not notice the shadow that flitted from pack to pack, snuffling and rummaging.  At length Gollum found a few strips of dried meat of indeterminate origin.  He had never been finicky, and he at once retired from the camp to gnaw upon the scraps.

Ai! As Gollum slobbered over his winnings, he himself grew careless.  This band of Orcs, rag-tag as it was, had had enough discipline to set a watch.  One lone Orc had been set to guarding the camp.  He had in fact been dozing, but at last, roused by hunger, he decided to creep into the camp to retrieve a bone that the captain of the band had earlier discarded.  "Might be a few shreds o' flesh left on it," he thought to himself.  Sneak-thief number two slipped toward the camp, and, quiet as he was, succeeded in coming up on sneak-thief number one, entirely by accident, mind you, but that did not lessen the honor that he meant to claim for the accomplishment.

"Got'im!"  he shrieked, launching himself at Gollum.  "Got'im!"

 Actually, as the Orc's companions swarmed from the camp and surrounded the two wriggling sneak-thieves, there was considerable doubt as to who had whom.  The Orc had a firm grip on one of Gollum's legs, but Gollum had sunk his jagged teeth into the Orc's neck and so in that sense had a firm grip on _him_.  Be that as it may, what mattered to Gandalf, who, alerted by the racket, was doing some sneaking of his own, was that Gollum was hemmed in by a dozen Orcs.  The two thieves were soon separated, and Gollum was trussed hand and foot.  Of all the things that could have happened, thought Gandalf, this was the worst.

"Now," gloated the leader of the Orcs, "we can leave off trampin' about this Mordor-forsaken place and get back to our holes."

"Holes is probably filled with water by now," grumbled one Orc.

"Cain't you never see the dark side o' nothin'?" snapped the captain.

"What dark side?  It's rainin'.  Been rainin' for sivin days."

"That's just it.  No sun.  Ain't that dark enow for ye?"

There was an appreciative murmur from the other Orcs in the band.  Clearly there was a reason why this one Orc was the captain.  Very perceptive for a goblin, he was.

The captain ordered his Orcs to break camp.  Then, with Gollum slung over the shoulders of one of the larger Orcs, the creatures set out at a rapid pace for the south.  Gandalf trailed after, looking for an opportunity to deprive them of their captive.

"I've got to rescue the wretched creature," he grumbled to himself.  "Curious state of affairs, having to rescue a lying, murdering, thieving, treacherous wretch.  But if I don't save his miserable skin, a lot of good folk may lose theirs.  Besides, no matter how miserable a creature it is, I suppose it wouldn't do to abandon it to the tender mercies of Orcs who are themselves even more accomplished at lying, murdering, thieving, and betraying."

This sparked some rather interesting reflections on the Istar's part as he wearily trudged along in the rain.

"Let us posit," he said to himself—he had had some training in philosophy—"let us posit that a lying, murdering, thieving, treacherous Orc has been captured by a creature that is itself even worse.  Would it be appropriate to feel any sympathy for the goblin?  I am quite certain that Orcs can both feel and fear pain.  As they can fear pain—that is, they can anticipate the future—they are therefore sentient beings.  Granted, they are wicked creatures, but sentient nonetheless.  Now, Men may be more or less good.  Some of them can behave very ill indeed.  Yet they are all sentient creatures, and one can feel sorry for a Man who has suffered and come to a bad end even if he has committed evil acts.  Moreover, one feels an impulse to rescue a Man from a painful situation even if one knows he is not the best of Men.  Could one argue that the difference between a Man and an Orc is one of scale and degree and not an absolute difference?"

Poor Gandalf must have been very cold and very tired to have indulged in such reflections, and after awhile he gave it up as a bad business.

"Be practical, Gandalf," he growled.  "There is no reforming an Orc, but one may hope to reform a Man.  A Man may cease to be wicked; an Orc never will.  Exterminate the brutes!  Yes, that's the only answer!"

He reached this hard-hearted conclusion at exactly the right moment, for one of the Orcs had fallen back and was unlacing its breeches.  This was not a very heroic way of eliminating the opposition, but Gandalf did not hesitate for a moment in taking advantage of the fact that he had literally caught his opponent 'with his pants down'.

Having dispensed with one foe, Gandalf resumed trailing the band and was soon able to take advantage of similar opportunities.  The Orcs being deficient in arithmetic skills, Gandalf was able to do away with five in this fashion before the captain noticed that there did not seem to be as many Orcs as there had been formerly.  He called a halt and stared bewildered at the company.

"How many have we got 'ere?" he said to his companions.

There was considerable counting and recounting—"six' said some, 'seven' said others, and 'eight' claimed yet others.  It turned out that some Orcs counted themselves in the tally; some didn't.  Moreover, sometimes Gollum was included in the reckoning; sometimes he wasn't.  After considerable argument, the Orcs concluded that there were seven goblins plus one prisoner.

"But didn't we start out with more Orcs?" said the captain.

Gradually it dawned upon the Orcs that no one had thought to do a head count at the outset.  However, at length all agreed that, although they weren't sure how many Orcs were missing, they were indeed short several.

"Whadya s'pose happened to 'em?" asked one goblin nervously.

"I hear that Elves eat Orcs," proclaimed another.  "A real treat they think Orcs is."

"Eeew.  Nasty!" shuddered a third, who was apparently a little more squeamish than most Orcs.

"I should say so!" declared a fourth, who was likewise particular about his diet.  "Oncit I was trapped in a cave and ate one o' me mates, and he did taste awful.  But there's no accountin' for some folk's likes'n'dislikes, ye know.  Those pointy eared Elves be peculiar, doubtless."

"You maggot-brain," snarled the captain.  "We have pointy ears, too, in case ye didn' notice, which I guess ye hain't.  And none of this jabberin' is gettin' us anywhere."

"If we recommenced walkin', we might get somewhere," offered one of the smaller Orcs.

The captain's sword slashed through the air.

"Awright," he growled, "now we got six plus a prisoner.  Any others o' ye have any cheeky idears?"

The other Orcs fell silent, and the company did recommence walking, although they were warier now, both of the captain and of the danger that lurked without their ranks.  They were on the Mordor side of the Anduin, to the west of Emyn Muil and passing through the Dagorlad, the Battle Plain of the Last Alliance.  No doubt they were making for the Black Gate, for that would provide a more direct approach to Barad-dûr than entering Mordor through Minas Morgul.  Gandalf knew that he had very little time remaining in which to wrest the captive away from the Orcs.

That morning, when the Orcs made camp, Gandalf crouched nearby considering his options.  The Orcs seemed to be careless, perhaps because they were so close to their destination.  He decided that their numbers had dwindled sufficiently for him to risk slipping into their camp.  He settled back to wait until full noon, when all the Orcs would likely be asleep.  Idly he watched as the captain undid his breeches and wandered into the bush on the far side of the camp.  He would not risk going after him, for if the captain vanished, the remaining Orcs might be thrown into a panic and scurry pell mell the remainder of the distance to the Black Gate.

Unbeknownst to Gandalf, the captain had been doing some thinking, an activity that even Orcs will engage in if driven to it.  It seemed to the captain that the missing Orcs had vanished one by one.  They were being stalked then and perhaps were still being stalked.  After he had refastened his breeches, he decided to take a circuit around the camp, far enough back, he hoped, so that he might be able to spy out their foe.  So it was that he caught sight of Gandalf, his back to him, as he patiently waited for his opportunity to slip into the camp.  With great care, the Orc captain drew his scimitar and crept up behind the wizard.

Fortunately, in this place it seemed not to have rained as much as it had further north, and a twig snapped under the foot of the Orc.  Gandalf spun about and was able to deflect the scimitar thrust with his staff.  Unfortunately, in doing so, the head of his staff broke off.  Gandalf drew his sword.  Dodging and weaving, thrusting and parrying, he fended off his assailant until at last he saw an opening and drove his sword home.

He enjoyed not even a moment's respite.  Drawn by the sound of the scuffle, the remaining five Orcs were scrambling about looking for him.  They broke through the brush just as their captain fell and launched themselves at the wizard.  One by one they were slain by the Istar, but the last Orc, before he was skewered, managed to drive a blade into the Istar's side.  After making sure that his enemies were dead, Gandalf collapsed to his knees and then fell forward onto all fours, gasping and retching.  His vision went gray, and all sounds became muffled, as if dampened by cotton wool.  Gradually he recovered himself a little bit.  Seizing upon the remnant of his staff, he levered himself to his feet, and, pressing one hand against his side, he staggered toward the Orc camp. 

It was deserted.  As soon as the Orcs had rushed from the camp, Gollum had slithered to a knife that lay by the fire where an Orc had been preparing a meal.  Quickly he had cut his bonds.

"He'll be miles away from here by now," Gandalf thought to himself, part rueful, part relieved.  Rueful because Gollum had escaped.  Relieved because the creature was no longer in the hands of the Orcs.  Also, truth be told, Gandalf knew that he now was not up to the task of dragging the wretched thing to Mirkwood.  It would be all he could do to drag _himself_ back to Mirkwood.

In fact, Gollum was only yards away, hidden in the brush and eagerly waiting for the wizard to depart.  After all, a veritable feast awaited him—six Orcs, two of them on the small side and therefore undoubtedly tender.  His dinner wouldn't be wriggling, but at least it would be raw.  Gandalf, however, did not think along these lines.  At the moment, he was ripping strips from his cloak—the Orc's blankets looked too filthy to be used as bandages.  As soon as he had tended his wound as best he could, he considered what he ought to do.

"The nearest aid," he thought to himself, "would be in Rohan.  First I must make for Sarn Gebir.  I will cross the Anduin above those rapids, and then I will head due west.  The Eastemnet is well patrolled.  Once I enter it, it will not be long before I am found by the Rohirrim."

Leaning heavily upon his damaged staff, he set off.  He could never afterward say how many days he walked before he reached the Anduin.  He remembered running out of water long before he stood on its banks, and he recalled throwing himself down beside the river and drinking greedily.  Then he refilled his water bladder and carefully picked his way across the rocks that filled the river at the place.  It had not rained since the skirmish, and the water was lower than it had been when he had initially crossed over during his pursuit of the Orcs.

Once on the other side, he resumed his weary trudging.  He had long ago eaten the last crumb of lembas, and he was dizzy from hunger.   

"Rohan," he thought feverishly.  "Edoras."

On he staggered.  He finished the last of the water.  Heedlessly, he cast aside the water bladder.

The sun rose high.  A cloud, high and thin, slid tantalizingly across the sky and vanished into the west.  

"Water.  Thirsty."

Gandalf squinted at the horizon.  Trees.  They would grow by a water course.  That way.

He stumbled onward.  Trees.  That way.  He heard harsh cries in the air.  He glanced upward.  Circling birds.  Large birds.  Dark they were.  Crows.

For a long time the trees seemed to grow no nearer.  Suddenly, without being aware of how he had got there, he stood in their shade.  At his feet was a streambed.  It was dry.  Desperately, Gandalf used his staff to dig into the cracked soil.  Little by little, the hole filled with water.  It was cloudy, but it would do.  Gandalf tore off another strip of his cloak, used it to sop up the water, and threw back his head, squeezing every last drop of water into his mouth.  The hole slowly refilled, and Gandalf repeated the process.  Little by little, he satisfied his thirst.

"Must keep going," he muttered to himself.  Again he used his staff to lever himself to his feet.  He took a few halting steps toward the west, but then he pitched forward upon the dry grass and did not move again.  As he lay there motionless, the branches of the trees grew heavy with crows.


	18. Gandalf Storm Crow

**Folks, as I wrote to _Dragonfly_, beta _extraordinaire_, I need to get into a 12-step program for fanfiction writers.  Anyway, tried to rest my hands—for one thing, wrote out four pages longhand and then entered it using a forefinger.  And now the swelling and pain have subsided somewhat, so I've gone ahead and written an installment in which—wait! that would be a spoiler!  You'll just have to read it.**

_Grumpy: _I consider your review to have been a get well card to my fingers!  Thank you.

_Silver Badger:_ Yes, the word 'awesome' is not used as much as formerly.  As my daughter used to say, "It has gone out of fad."  Another good word used up and tossed aside.  Pity.

_Kelly Kragen: _I'm glad you don't mind the Gandalf bits because there are some more in here.  After all, what _was_ he enduring during all those long years?  We learn a little at the Council, but the rest of his centuries of wandering Middle Earth are left for the most part in shadow.  He is a hero, too, and it is not even his land or his people that he defends, for he has neither.

_Athena Diagon Cat: _Sometimes it seems as if 'getting into trouble' is his reason for being.

_AzureDragoness__: _My sentiments precisely.  I get all shivery at the thought of those beady-eyed birds waiting for Gandalf to draw his last breath.

_Dragonfly: _You were right.  Not being able to write made me crazy—well, crazier, anyway.  That numbness you mentioned—that was one of my symptoms when I was diagnosed with carpal tunnel.  (The current problem with my fingers is but the latest in the long line of problems with fingers and wrists.)

_Joee__: _The next chapter of "The Clearing" will have Legolas flying through the air with the greatest of ease.

Chapter 18: Storm Crows

If Galadriel could ever be said to pace, she was doing it now.  Back and forth she went, from one side of her talan to the other.

"Who is it this time?" asked Celeborn.  "Is Legolas being chased by a spider?"

"I pity the spider who tries to chase Legolas," retorted Galadriel.  "It would soon find itself wrapped in its own silk."

"Elladan is in trouble?  Or Elrohir?"

"I no longer fear for the twins.  If Elladan is in trouble, Elrohir will see to him, and vice versa.  They have naught to fear but their father's retribution when they transgress one of his rules."

"Estel?"

"Estel is well guarded.  Elrond will let no harm come to him."

"Who then?"

"Mithrandir."

"Mithrandir?  Galadriel, no one knows how old Mithrandir is, but he was already agéd when he arrived at the Grey Havens.  I think he can be counted on to look after himself."

"He takes too many risks."

"Of course.  That is what he is here to do."

"No, Celeborn.  He is not here _to_ take risks; he simply takes them so that he may accomplish what he _is_ here to do."

"Enlighten me on that score," said Celeborn.  Of course, he knew as well as Galadriel why the Istar had been sent to Middle Earth; he merely thought that it would be good for Galadriel to remind herself of why Gandalf was present in Arda in the first place.

Galadriel smiled at Celeborn.

"You are so transparent, melethron-nîn.  Very well, he was sent here to 'even the playing field', as Men say.  He is not to fight Men's battles for them, but he is to encourage them and to make it possible for them to find within themselves the courage and the strength to face the Darkness."

Celeborn nodded.

"Yes, although sometimes it does seem a pity that he cannot simply with a wave of his staff banish all evil and heal all hurts."

"True, but that would be no victory.  The Darkness is within as well as without, and that sort of Darkness can be defeated only by the person within whom it dwells.  Should Mithrandir send the Darkness without back to the abyss, a new Darkness would grow, for Men would raise a new Dark Lord from amongst their own number.  No, it is Men who must themselves throw off the evil within."

"I fear you are right, Galadriel," said Celeborn.  "I also fear that it is a war that will never be won.  One Man may battle and overcome the Darkness, but that will not save the next Man, and the next, from having to engage in the same struggle."

"You are right, Celeborn.  'Tis a war that will not and cannot be won for all eternity.  Still, holding the evil at bay is itself a kind of victory.  Gandalf would see that Men are capable of winning that battle on a daily basis in the mundane arena of everyday life.  When he is sure of that he will depart for the Uttermost West—if he survives that long, of course!"

"What makes you doubt that he will?" asked Celeborn.

"My mirror is filled with crows—large black crows that perch upon branches and stare fixedly at something that lies upon the ground.  I cannot clearly make out who or what it is, but I see the color grey."

"Mithrandir is not the only one in Middle Earth to wear a grey cloak."

"True, but my mirror is not in the habit of showing me visions of persons who have naught to do with me or mine!"

This was a sobering reflection, and Celeborn himself began to feel anxious.

"Is there anything we can do?  Any steps we can take?"

Galadriel shook her head.

"That is what is so vexing about that mirror sometimes.  It tantalizes with images of what may be, but it gives no guidance as to how events may be either brought to pass or prevented.  Sometimes I think the Valar have cursed me rather than gifted me!   Would that I could cast aside this ring and be a simple elleth, laughing and singing in the glades amidst the mallorn trees.  I do not wish to be Galadriel the seer, Galadriel the sorceress, one who inspires awe amongst the Elves and fear amongst Men!"

"Oh, and do you suppose Mithrandir wants to be the Grey Pilgrim, constantly wandering hither and thither, exposed to both the elements and the scorn or outright enmity of those who either fear him or hate him?"

Galadriel smiled.  She had a sudden vision of a reluctant Mithrandir being dragged by the Valar to a boat and bodily tossed into it.  How _had_ the Maia taken the news when told that he was being sent on a mission to Middle Earth?  Not too badly, she hoped.  Certainly she had never heard him utter a word of complaint in all the years she had known him.  But was it not conceivable that there were times, during respites between battles, when the old wizard may have muttered 'to Mordor with it all' as he struggled to light a pipe stuffed with damp pipeweed?  Galadriel laughed outright.

"What do you see, O Sorceress?" teased Celeborn.

"I see a wizard soaked and swearing, one who is tempted to light his fireworks under the seats of pesky Periannath."

"I like that vision!" exclaimed Celeborn, taking his lady's hand.  "But another vision I would like better.  The night wears on.  Come to bed."

"And what makes you think that a vision is to be found in bed?" said Galadriel playfully.

"_You_ are a vision, my Lady," said Celeborn gallantly.  "Indeed, so enchanting you are that I would like to see more of you!"

"I will consult my mirror," replied Galadriel with mock gravity, "to see if your wish will be vouchsafed."

"But you have already said that your mirror is equivocal.  Let us essay the question ourselves."

"Very well," said Galadriel.  "It is to be hoped that this time Haldir does not disturb us whilst we try out matters."

Celeborn rolled his eyes.

"And Haldir's report could have waited until morning, too.  To be interrupted because a mere dozen Orcs have been sighted to the west.  Ai!"

"Celeborn, we must give Haldir credit for taking his responsibilities so seriously."

"True, but next time I hope he comes tromping up like a Dwarf.  A little warning would have been nice."

"I think Haldir wishes that he had been tromping like a Dwarf.  Did you see his face?"

"No, I was too busy scrambling about in search of a robe.  I find it difficult to look ethereal without it."

"_I_ think you look ethereal without it," teased Galadriel.

Just then heavy steps were heard.  The Lord and Lady looked at one another.

"I think we have gotten our wish," said Celeborn sourly.  "Sounds like a Dwarf."

Haldir cautiously peeked up over the edge of the talan.

"My Lord, my Lady."

"Haldir," said Celeborn pleasantly, "mae govannen."

Encouraged, Haldir stepped onto the flet.

"My pardon for, ah, interrupting you, but a Rider of Rohan has just arrived bearing a message.  As it pertains to the wizard Mithrandir—"

"Hah!" Galadriel exclaimed.  "I knew it!  Crows!  Large black crows!"

She seized the scroll from Haldir's hand, startling the young Elf and no doubt surprising both Celeborn and herself.  Hastily she broke the seal.

Anxiously, Celeborn o'erlooked her shoulder.  Forgotten, Haldir gratefully backed toward the edge of the talan and slipped away.  At the Lord and Lady's flet, things were becoming altogether too unpredictable for an Elf who liked his world to be tidy and formal.

The message that the Lord and the Lady read with such avidity had been sent by Fengel, King of Rohan.  Several days earlier, he and his son Thengel had been riding a circuit around an encampment in the Eastemnet.  They had been near turning back when something to the east caught Fengel's attention.  He gazed intently in that direction.

"A large number of crows are perched yonder," he observed.  "Whatever lies injured there, it must be of a fair size to have attracted such a large number of scavengers."

"Perchance a dead horse," said Thengel.

Fengel shook his head.

"Not dead.  The crows wouldn't be perched up in the trees if it were dead.  They'd be down on the ground feasting."

"Unless it were an Orc," Thengel pointed out.

"True," agreed Fengel.  "Crows pluck at the flesh of Orcs without giving them the courtesy of waiting for them to die first.  So it is no Orc that lies yonder but instead an injured horse or man.  We must offer the sufferer aid, or, at the very least, ease the victim's passing.  It is an ill thing for either horse or man to die alone and unmarked."

The Men urged their horses into a gallop.  As they neared the trees, they saw that on the ground a Man lay face down, not moving.  Thengel dismounted and turned him over.

"'Tis Gandalf," exclaimed Thengel.

Fengel now also leapt down from his horse.  He knelt by the wizard, examining him.

"He has been wounded in the side—see how the blood has seeped through these bandages?"

The Istar muttered something, although he did not open his eyes.

"What is he saying?" asked Thengel.

"I do not know.  I think it is elvish.  Although he speaks the Common Tongue, I believe his first tongue has ever been that of the Eldar."

The wizard twisted and moaned.

"It sounds as if he is saying 'nen'," observed Thengel.

"Yes, but whatever does that mean?" said Fengel.

"Wa-ter," said Gandalf distinctly.  "Thirsty, you fool."

Chagrined, Fengel and Thengel looked at each other.

"Should have known he was thirsty without being told," said Fengel.  "Look at how desiccated his skin is, and even with his eyes closed, you can tell that they are sunken."

"Nen, saes," muttered Gandalf.  "Please," he added in the Common Tongue.

"Right," said Fengel.  "Enough talk."

Thengel hurried back to his horse to fetch his water bladder.  Fengel supported Gandalf's head whilst Thengel held the neck of the bladder to the wizard's mouth.  Gandalf drank greedily, not caring that water was running down his chin.  At last he sighed and fell back in Fengel's arms.  He still had not opened his eyes.

"Gandalf," said Fengel, "do you think you could eat a bite?"

"No."

"You look very thin."

"Not hungry."

"Let us get him back to camp," suggested Thengel.  "We carry only jerked meat in our saddlebags, and that would not tempt him in his current condition.  We must prepare a broth and try to get him to take a little of that."

"True, but let us attend to his wound before we try to move him.  In my saddlebag you will find some rolls of linen as well as a bottle of ointment."

Thengel fetched what was needful as Fengel unwound the old bandages.

"Well," he said at last as he examined the wound, "if you _must_ be skewered in the side, you have gone about having it done in the very best fashion.  The sword thrust went in just above your liver.  An inch lower, the blow would have pierced that organ, and you would have bled to death in short order.  Clean wound, too.  Doesn't feel hot to the touch.  No sign of swelling.  No foul drainage.  Yes, Gandalf, all things considered, you've managed matters quite well.

"What did you expect?" said Gandalf faintly.  "I _am_ a wizard."

He opened his eyes and smiled a little, although it was obvious that he was weak and in pain.  Fengel smiled back as Thengel returned with the bandages and the ointment.

"Now," the Rider teased, "you have at last in truth earned the epithet 'Stormcrow'.  Hitherto you have not deserved it, but now without a question you do.  Had the horizon not been clouded by a large number of crows, we would never have found you."

"I think 'Foilcrow' would be much more fitting title," replied Gandalf, closing his eyes but still smiling.  "Yes, Gandalf Foilcrow.  Ow!"

"My pardon," said Fengel, who was spreading the ointment as gently as he could, which was not, apparently, gentle enough.  "I'm done with that now.  All that remains is to wrap the wound once more.  Thengel, help lift Gandalf into a sitting position so that I can wind these bandages around him."

Once Gandalf's wound had been tended, the Rohirrim set about transporting him to their camp.

"Thengel," said Fengel, "you are the lighter, and my horse is the larger.  I think he could carry both you and Gandalf, who most assuredly cannot ride unassisted.  Here, you mount up, and then you can pull Gandalf up before you whilst I help by giving him a boost."

Wincing, Gandalf was soon securely mounted before Thengel.  Then Fengel leapt onto Thengel's horse, and they slowly rode west, toward the Rohirrim encampment.  Gandalf sighed with contentment.

"Didn't want to leave just yet," he murmured.

"Gandalf?" said Thengel.

"I like these ridiculous Bagginses and Boffins, Bolgers and Bracegirdles.  Didn't want to leave them in the lurch."

"What is he saying?" called Fengel.

"I think he is delirious," Thengel called back.  "He's uttering nonsense syllables."

"Want to stay," muttered Gandalf.  "See it through to the end.  Will leave then if I must.  Suppose they'll make me.  Back to the boat, Mithrandir.  Yes, that's what they'll say.  Middle Earth is not for you.  Wish it were.  The Shire.  Would like to settle in the Shire."

"Gandalf," Thengel said, shaking him gently.  "Come back."

"Haven't gone anywhere," replied Mithrandir.  "No, that's wrong.  I've gone everywhere but been nowhere.  A pilgrim.  Yes, they call me the Grey Pilgrim."

"Gandalf, are you thirsty still?  There's plenty more water."

Gandalf shook his head.

"No," he said sadly.  "I have a thirst, but it is not one can be satisfied with water."

Thengel called over to Fengel, "He's a little better, I think.  He's talking in riddles now."

"Ah, that's good," said Fengel, relieved.  "A wizard talks in riddles cannot be too ill."

Gandalf smiled a little.  He had been gifted with good friends.  What was preferable: to have had the joy of knowing them and loving them coupled with the pain of losing them or to never have suffered the pain of loss but never to have known the joy either?  At least he would have memories to take back with him to the Undying Lands.  Aye, and it was to be hoped that his friends and their descendants would continue to revel in the beauty and majesty of Middle Earth.  He would not be here to see it, but it would give him pleasure to think on it.

"I will be fine," he reassured Thengel.  "Went through a bad spell back there, but I am recovering nicely, I think."

Thengel shook his head in disbelief.

"Gandalf, now you talk as lightly as if you had never been skewered in the first place.  Pity you are such a fast healer.  Maybe you would behave with greater caution if you suffered more!"

"Believe me, Thengel, I have suffered and will suffer mightily.  Unfortunately, my wounds are such as cannot be bandaged."

"There you go—riddling again!"

"'Tis a way of keeping my wits sharp.  You maintain readiness through swordplay; I through wordplay.  I wield words more often than weapons, and in that respect I must keep in tiptop shape."

"Apparently an exchange of words did not figure in your latest encounter, however."

"True," conceded Gandalf.

"How many foes did you face?"

"Twelve Orcs at the outset, but," the wizard hastened to add, "I never had to face more than five at the same time."

Thengel let out a whistle.

"Five Orcs at once.  You wield a blade at least as well as you wield your tongue.  If you ever wish to give over riddling for riding, I am sure there will be a place for you amongst the Rohirrim!"

"Thank you," said Gandalf gravely.  "Perhaps someday I shall indeed draw sword in company with the Riders of Rohan.  Ah, is this your encampment?"

"And how many encampments did you think there would be hereabouts?" Thengel twitted him.

Gandalf laughed as he slid carefully from the horse with the assistance of a guard who had at once come forward when he saw a horse burdened with two riders.

"Spoken like a true wizard, Thengel.  Now I would ask of you a favor.  Another one," he said hastily as he saw Thengel preparing to chaff him once again.  "Would you send a messenger to Lothlórien on my behalf?  I gave one of the Galadhrim the slip, and I wish to reassure the Lord and Lady that I am safe.  They will send on word to others of my friends who are presently in Mirkwood."

"A full account of this matter will be dispatched at once," said Thengel, turning to go.

"Not too full an account," Gandalf called after him.  "I do not want anyone worried unnecessarily on my behalf."

And so it was that several days later a Rider of Rohan presented himself at the border of Lothlórien with a message for its Lord and Lady.  The narrative it contained was not complete in all its details, but it did not take a wizard to divine the elements that were missing.  No mention was made of crows hovering over a dying wizard in anticipation of an easy meal, but Galadriel knew well enough that they had been there.

"He was run through with a sword," she declared with a certainty born of years of friendship with the wizard.  "None of this 'suffered a wound to his side that did not penetrate any vital organs'!  He was run through with a sword and came very near dying."

"No doubt you are correct," said Celeborn, "but it must be true that the sword 'did not penetrate any vital organs', else he would in fact be dead.  There are no lies in this letter."

"No lies," retorted Galadriel, "but not the whole truth, neither."

"Oh, and are you someone who is entitled to complain about _that_?" teased Celeborn.  "If I recall correctly, isn't that _your_ stock in trade—enigmatic and partial 'truths'?"

That drew a smile from Galadriel.  Seeing this, Celeborn seized his opportunity.

"I see that your fears have at last been put to rest, my Lady.  Would it be too much to hope that we may now retire for the night?"

Smiling archly, Galadriel allowed Celeborn to draw her toward a more secluded area of the talan, and it is to be hoped that Haldir had no cause to disturb them again that night.  There is, alas, a page missing from the chronicle at this point, else I should be able to tell you for a surety whether the Lord and Lady whiled away the remainder of the evening uninterrupted.  You shall have to be merely satisfied with knowing that they did at least _intend_ to retire to bed and its attendant pleasures.  And so, Reader, on that note, whether satisfying or unsatisfying, I bid thee farewell for now.


	19. No Further Dallying

**Folks, my daughter and I have crawled back into town after an epic airplane journey that made Tom Hanks' stay in _The Terminal _look brief.  I am seriously considering arranging to have Gandalf sucked into the Charlotte airport to see if he could straighten things out.  That's what it would take, I think, a Maia (maybe even a Vala).**

**Beta reader once again _Dragonfly_, who caught a continuity problem as well as punctuation errors.  ("Burzum!" grumbles _Joee_.)**

Hello, _Rae132/Tiniwiest_.  Yes, I think you have sent in at least one review, but there is no law against reviewing again—and again—and again….  Vampires subsist on blood; writers on reviews.

_Grumpy: _'Quality time' must be hard for Celeborn and Galadriel to come by, given the open architecture of the Lórien flets.

_Athena Diagon Cat:_ Actually, it may not be so hard to imagine after all.  In the book, after Galadriel 'passes the test' when Frodo offers her the ring and she refuses it, she takes on a form that is much less daunting than the one in the movie.  And even in the movie (extended version) you get a brief glimpse of a lighter side of Galadriel in her laughter, brief as it is, when she gives Sam the elven rope and he asks her if she's run out of the shiny daggers she presents to Merry and Pippin.

_Azure Dragoness: _Yes, you're right.  More foreshadowing.

_Kelly Kragen: _Thank you so much for your kind words.  I'm sitting here 'grinning like an idiot', which is an expression I usually reserve for my daughter's dance recitals!  

_Farflung: _I see you have survived the graduation celebration(s).  Everything went well, I hope?  Hmm, speaking of celebrations, I haven't really described the Elves having a big formal party since the memorable dance at which Legolas got over his jitters at the idea of meeting elf-maidens.  I've referred to some parties and feasts but provided no details.  Time to rectify that omission, don't you think?  After all, all sorts of hysterical events come out of parties when young Elves indulge themselves in Dorwinion wine.

_Joee: _What do you mean, 'poor Haldir'!?  What about poor Celeborn and Galadriel!?

_Dragonfly: _Haldir will certainly try to be as noisy as possible in the future, although I think blowing the trumpet would be a bit 'over the top'!  

**Chapter 19: No Further Dallying**

As soon as Celeborn and Galadriel received word from the Rohirrim of Mithrandir's rescue, they at once sent a missive to Mirkwood.  The messenger arrived one day as Elrond, Glorfindel, and Erestor were discussing their plans for returning to Imladris.  "That settles it," said Elrond.  "We will take the southern route and make for Isengard.  Given that Mithrandir has by now been taken to Edoras, that will make it easier for him to rejoin our company.  He will then journey with us to Rivendell, and I shall compel him to rest for a time."

Glorfindel snorted.

"Oh, and how do you propose to do that?"

"Do not forget, mellon-nîn, that I am much more familiar with the healing properties of herbs than our wizard friend.  The only herb with which he has a thoroughgoing acquaintance is pipeweed.  Thus 'twill be an easy matter to garnish his meals with plants that are both tasty and soporific."

Glorfindel shook his head doubtfully. As for Erestor, he misliked the idea of journeying to Isengard, but, as he could think of no rational objection to the plan, he remained unhappily silent.

Elrohir and Elladan were not, however, so reticent about expressing their objections to the impending separation from Legolas.   "But, Ada," argued Elrohir, "we have not even journeyed to Erebor.   We promised Legolas we would go there with him.  And we have spent very little time in Esgaroth.  Surely you will not make us leave until we have thoroughly explored that town."

The Lord of Imladris was unmoved.  "Elrohir, you ought not to have made such a promise without consulting me first.  As for Esgaroth, true, you have seen little of it.  On the other hand, the Lake-men likely feel that they have seen o'ermuch of _you_—aye, and of the other barrel-riders as well!  If you and Elladan do not depart soon, enmity may grow between Man and Elf!"  The twins protested that they had not gone barrel-riding since the ill-fated expedition that had cost Erestor his braids.  Elrond, however, was inexorable.  He had made up his mind that it was time to depart, and depart they would.  It was now necessary, he decreed, to return their attention to maintaining the borders of their land.  "We have been absent," he said, "longer than we ought."

The twins hastily hunted up Estel and sent him to try his hand at swaying the Lord of Imladris, but again Elrond proved obdurate.  Indeed, by the time the audience had concluded, Estel was begging to return to Rivendell, for his foster-father had painted a truly woeful picture of Estel's dog wasting away out of longing for his master.  The boy ran crying to the twins, swearing to them that they ought to depart even sooner than the day fixed upon by Elrond.

That left Legolas, who, in this matter wiser than the twins, knew that Elrond would not change his mind and so did not bother trying. Instead, he concentrated on Thranduil, trying to persuade him that at least he ought to be allowed to accompany his friends part of the way to Rivendell.  Thranduil was horrified.  He knew that three disasters had but lately occurred outside the borders of the land he still preferred to call Greenwood.

"Legolas," he objected, "first your friends were attacked in the Lórien pass.  Then Mithrandir was spirited away by some fell creature, and he a wizard, no less.  Next, Mithrandir was nearly slain by Orcs.  Now you tell me that you want me to permit you to venture forth in the company of these friends who seem either to attract disaster or to rush off in pursuit of it!"

"But, Ada," Legolas argued, "we will not be going anywhere near the Lórien pass, which is where two of the attacks took place, and as for the latest attack on Mithrandir, it happened far to the south, almost at the borders of the domain of the Dark Lord.  We will not be going anywhere near the land of Mordor."

"You will not be going anywhere near the land of Mordor, but that does not mean that the denizens of that land will not be venturing forth themselves.  I would not have them come upon you.  I do not wish you to pass beyond the borders of this land, for here I know that I can keep you well guarded."

"Ada," cried Legolas in frustration, "I cannot always stay within this realm.  I could not bear it.  I am accustomed to considerable freedom.  Moreover, I have been trained as a warrior.  If I am kept safe in Greenwood, all those years of training will have been wasted."

Thranduil was unmoved.

"Next you will be telling me that you wish for evil to befall Middle Earth so that all your years of preparation will be put to good use."

"Ada, that is not fair!" exclaimed Legolas.  "I do not wish evil into being, but evil there is.  I have been preparing all my life to counter the darkness that threatens Middle Earth.  Would you render my life meaningless!?"

"Remember, Legolas, that I did not give permission for you to be trained as a warrior.  That was Elrond's doing, and very high-handed it was of him to make such a decision without consulting me!"

Hitherto Thranduil had been careful not to speak ill of Elrond in the hearing of Legolas.  He instantly realized that he had made a mistake, for the eyes of his son turned a blue the color of ice.

"I hope you realize, _Adar_, that you are speaking of the _Ada_ who made himself available to me when you were—otherwise occupied."

Thranduil tried to recover from his blunder.

"Ion-nîn," he said humbly, "I did wrong in speaking so of Elrond, and I am in no position to criticize your upbringing at his hands.  Absent any direction from me, he had to make the decisions that seemed most fitting.  Had you remained here in Greenwood, no doubt my decisions would have been similar to his.  I, too, would have seen to it that you were trained as a warrior.  A prince must know how to defend himself and how to lead his forces into battle.  I would not have neglected that aspect of your education.   But a prince's life should not be ventured idly, and for the same reason that dictates that he learn how to defend himself and lead armies.  A prince is the son of a king and destined to be a king in his own right.  A king, for all his authority, lacks power in one respect: he is not free to indulge himself if by doing so he puts his kingdom in peril.  And a king who puts his person at risk imperils his realm and all who dwell in it.  For the selfsame reason, a prince must curb his desires, forgoing any pleasure that would put the succession—and thus the kingdom—at risk."

 Legolas could not argue with his father's logic, but as he answered his voice nonetheless expressed his skepticism.

"And this is the reason you will not allow me to travel with my friends?—will you swear that this is so?"

Thranduil hesitated.

"It is one of the reasons," he said carefully.

Legolas frowned.

"One of the reasons?  Is your second reason as 'unselfish' as your first?"

"No," admitted Thranduil.  "I also do not want any harm to come to you because you are my son and I love you."

Legolas was now at a disadvantage in the argument.  He could not upbraid his Ada for thinking of the welfare of the kingdom. Nor could he fault him for loving his son.  He was not left altogether without arguments, however.

"Ada," he said, "a moment ago you said that a king is not entirely free to do as he pleases.  I accept the truth of your words."

Thranduil's eyes narrowed. What sort of trap was his son setting?

"Sometimes," continued Legolas, "a king must surely be obligated to put aside his own feelings if by doing so he can better serve his subjects.  Is this not so?"

"Ye—es," said Thranduil cautiously.

"So," Legolas went on, "a king, regardless of his love for his son, will sometimes be compelled to send him into battle if that son has the skills to beat back an immediate threat to the realm.  The needs of the kingdom will in such a case trump the feelings of the king."  Legolas shot a triumphant look at his father.

"You are correct," conceded Thranduil.  "But," he quickly added as Legolas began to grin, "that is not the situation under discussion here. You would have it seem as if there is a contradiction between my first and second reasons for wishing you to remain in Greenwood.  This point I will not concede.  For you do not ride out against an imminent threat to the kingdom. Instead, you seek permission to depart on a pleasure jaunt.  In doing so, you may encounter dangers unanticipated and come to grief purely by happenstance and not in the service of your subjects."

Vexed, Legolas retired from the field and betook himself to Edwen Nana. Perhaps he could prevail upon her to take his side.  He'd never seen anyone stand up to the nursemaid, and perchance she could work her magic even upon Thranduil.  Ai!  In this matter she was of a mind with the King.  "I don't always see eye to eye with Thranduil, mind you," she said to Legolas, "but in this matter I do believe he is right.  You have just spent several weeks in the company of your friends.  You have no cause to be gallivanting about in the wild just to spend a few more days with them. Say goodbye and be done with it."

But, Nana," protested Legolas, "I may not see them for years."

"Then any future reunion 'twill be all the sweeter," said Edwen Nana in her usual forthright manner.

Legolas now knew that he had less of a chance at changing Edwen Nana's mind than he had had at changing Thranduil's.  He at once went off in search of Gilglîr.  The Seneschal had often seemed willing to second Legolas in disputes between Thranduil and the Prince, for he was such a good friend with the monarch that he dared to contradict him, something no one else in the kingdom had the courage to do.  Today, however, Gilglîr came down firmly on the side of the King.

"Legolas, you must say goodbye to your friends at some point.  Why do you wish to drag things out by riding with them part of the way, only to have to turn back at some point?  Bid them a gracious farewell at the entrance to the Great Hall, and then devote your energy to fulfilling your duties—you know that you do have some, don't you?"

"Of course I do," said Legolas, nettled.  "But for a thousand years the kingdom got along very well without my being around to perform them, so I don't see why a few more weeks will matter."

"A thousand years?" retorted Gilglîr.  "Then I think it is high time that you begin catching up on arrears!"

Disconsolate, Legolas retreated to his room, there to commiserate with Elladan and Elrohir.  Tawarmaenas was there, too, but privately he thought that Thranduil and the others were right.  He was careful, though, to keep his thoughts to himself. 

Unbeknownst to Legolas, however, after he had parted from Gilglîr, the Seneschal had gone to see Thranduil.  Upon the arrival of the Prince at the Great Hall, Gilglîr had indeed taken his side on several occasions when he thought it might help the young Elf adjust to his new home, but he was less willing to do so now lest he interfere with the developing relationship between father and son.  He had no wish to undercut Thranduil's authority in the eyes of Legolas. Therefore he had lately resolved that when he disagreed with Thranduil, he would discuss matters privately with the King, without letting on that he thought the Prince had a case.  Now he reclined upon a comfortable chair in Thranduil's private quarters, sharing a glass of wine with his friend just as Elrond so often shared a late glass of wine with Glorfindel and his other confidants back in Imladris.

"Thranduil, I understand that Legolas wishes to farewell his friends by riding a short distance with them."

Thranduil looked at his friend suspiciously.

"Allow me to venture a guess: Legolas has asked you to intervene on his behalf."

"He has asked, but I have refused.  He does not know that I planned to speak to you about this matter.  Which means, my friend, that should you happen to change your mind, you will not appear weak in the eyes of your son."

"How thoughtful of you," said Thranduil sardonically.  "Of course, I know of no reason why I should 'happen' to change my mind."

"Thranduil, what harm would there be in allowing Legolas to travel with his friends?  The scouts report no signs of danger—neither Orcs nor spiders—between the Great Hall and the very borders of Southern Mirkwood.  As you know, those regions were thoroughly swept after the spider attack upon Glorfindel and Estel.  You must therefore concede that Legolas is no more likely to get into trouble on this excursion than he would be whilst riding about nearer to the Hall.  Moreover, if you give way on this matter, it would strengthen the ties between you and your son, for Legolas would be suitably grateful if he were to perceive you as respecting his wishes and feelings."

Thranduil pondered this last point.  He was sure that his son loved him.  Still he could not help but wonder whether the love was of the same depth as the affection that he knew the young Elf felt toward Elrond.  Perhaps Gilglîr was right.

"Very well," the King said at last.

"Shall I fetch the Prince?" asked the Seneschal.

"No, I will myself go to his chamber."

Thranduil did not wish the Seneschal to fetch Legolas because he suspected that the Prince would guess that Gilglîr had spoken to him.  The Seneschal divined as much, but out of deference for Thranduil's feelings he said nothing.  He merely arose and bade the King goodnight.

As Thranduil approached the Prince's chamber, he heard the sounds of merriment.  Apparently a battle royale was taking place.  Suddenly he was very glad that he was taking Gilglîr's advice.  "It is a hard thing that Legolas must be separated from those who are virtually his brothers," the King thought to himself.  Smiling, he knocked on the door.  Receiving no answer, at length he opened it.  Just at that moment Elrohir let fly with a sticky bun, which sailed across the room and struck Thranduil square on the forehead.  Of course, being a sticky bun, it stuck momentarily.  As the horrified young Elves watched, it slowly peeled away from Thranduil's face, finally falling and coming to rest at his feet.

Tawarmaenas was the first to find his voice.

"Uncle," he said nervously, "I was just going to bed.  Goodnight!"

 He edged carefully around the King, who had not yet said a word.  Other young Elves then politely bade the King good e'en and crept away, leaving behind one nervous prince.  When all had departed, Thranduil at last allowed himself to smile.

" Well, Legolas," he said, "I see that you are determined to make the most out of your remaining time with your friends."

Legolas nodded glumly.

"However," continued Thranduil, "you may wish to save some energy for an excursion.  I have after all decided that you may accompany your friends on the first leg of the journey.  You may ride as far as the border of Southern Greenwood.  There you must turn back with your escort."

"Thank you, Ada!" exclaimed Legolas.  "You won't regret this decision, I promise you.  I swear I will stay out of trouble!"

Thranduil was anything but convinced.  However, as king he had had plenty of practice at steeling both his nerves and his face.  So he smiled at his son, kissed, him goodnight, and returned to his private chamber.  There he was shortly joined by Gilglîr, who, although he had earlier bade Thranduil goodnight, was so anxious to know how matters had turned out that he had been unable to sleep.

"Yes, I have granted him permission to join the riding," the king declared before Gilglîr had even had an opportunity to speak.  "For that is why you have come, is it not, to find out whether or not I gave him my blessing?"

Gilglîr admitted that this was so.

"Do you suppose," Thranduil said, "that he would have run away had I not given him permission to join the company?"

Gilglîr shook his head.

"I think he has matured past the stage at which he would abscond in response to being thwarted.  But it is possible that he would have been sullen and resentful, even though he is far from being naturally so."

"You will have to do me a favor," Thranduil went on. "You must agree to be one of the escort."

"Of course, mellon-nîn," replied Gilglîr.  "I had assumed that I would make up one of the number.  Will Tawarmaenas ride as well?"

Thranduil nodded.

"Yes.  It would be hard on Tawarmaenas to forgo the merriment that will no doubt accompany the riding."

As it turned out, however, Tawarmaenas was not to be included.   As soon as Thranduil's other councilors learned of the plan, one of them, Dûredhel, voiced vehement objections.

"You cannot let both your heirs absent themselves from court," he argued.  "Either Prince Legolas goes and Tawarmaenas stays, or Tawarmaenas joins the riding whilst Prince Legolas remains."

Having reluctantly conceded that the journey was not very likely to imperil Legolas, Thranduil was inclined to let Tawarmaenas go.  If one would be safe, so would be the other.  But his councilor argued at such length that at last Thranduil reluctantly agreed.  After all, there was some sense in what he was saying.

As the King had feared, Tawarmaenas was grievously disappointed at being denied the opportunity to ride south with Legolas.  He badgered both Thranduil and Gilglîr relentlessly.  Thranduil, however, having given way once already, was determined to stand firm, and so it was that one morning a forlorn Tawarmaenas stood beside the King to bid his cousin and his friends farewell.

"Goodbye, Elladan.  Goodbye, Elrohir.  I hope it will not be too long before we meet again."

"Perhaps," said Elladan hopefully, "from time to time we can rendezvous in Lothlórien.  That will not be too far for any of us to travel, and Haldir and his brothers will be there as well!"

"If they are not out on patrol," Erestor pointed out, trying to interject some mature wisdom into the conversation.

"Oh," said Elrohir insouciantly, "if they are out on patrol, we will simply join them."

"And then no doubt Lórien will be overrun by Orcs," said Glorfindel sourly, "as you would be too busy swilling wine to notice even a Troll blundering about."

"Swilling!?" exclaimed Elladan indignantly.  "Elves do not 'swill'!  They imbibe, yes, and they indulge, but they do not swill."

"And I suppose," laughed Elrond, "next you will tell us that you never 'carouse'."

Everyone laughed, even Thranduil, who still felt uneasy at letting Legolas ride off with the Imladris Elves.  The night before he had had a rather awkward conversation with Elrond.

"You have quite enjoyed seeing Legolas again, haven't you?" he had observed to the Lord of Imladris.

"Yes," replied Elrond.  "He has been much missed in Rivendell."

"I suppose there are _some_ who would be glad to see him once again at that place."

"Oh, more than _some_, I assure you," exclaimed Elrond.  "Everyone will be happy when he returns.  I mean, when he returns for a visit," he added hastily at the alarmed look upon Thranduil's face.  "We all understand that he will never again dwell permanently in Imladris."

Thranduil relaxed a little.

"So, when it comes time for Legolas to part from you and ride north once more, you wouldn't—you would never—"

"Thranduil," said Elrond firmly, "I won't encourage Legolas to fly your realm, if that is what you fear."

"But what if he doesn't need any encouragement?  What if he decides on his own that he wants to accompany you back to Imladris?  Would you not welcome such a decision on his part?"

"I could not help but be moved at such evidence of his continuing affection for me and mine, but, no, I would not allow him to return on such terms.  Be certain, Thranduil, that there are quite a few older and wiser heads in the company.  I think between Erestor, Glorfindel, and myself, we would be able to talk sense into the lad.  And Gilglîr will be along, too.  Would I be right in guessing," Elrond said dryly, "that you have asked him to escort Legolas not only for his safety but also to serve as guarantor of his return?"

Thranduil blushed at realizing that his motives had been so patently obvious to the Lord of Imladris.

"Yes, I confess that such a consideration had been in my mind.  I beg your pardon for my lack of trust in you, my friend."

Elrond shook his head.

"No pardon is necessary, Thranduil.  Given what you have endured over the past millennium, your concern is quite understandable.  You suffered the grief of losing a child and never again wish to experience such pain."

"Yes," Thranduil said to himself as Legolas rode off with his friends.  "I never want to lose him again.  I hope I am doing the right thing in letting him join this riding.  But surely there are no Orcs or spiders anywhere near their path.  The warriors have been much too thorough for any to remain."

Thus striving to reassure himself, Thranduil slowly reentered the Great Hall, Tawarmaenas walking sadly but loyally by his side.


	20. Evil Draws Near

**Chapter 20: Evil Draws Near**

For several hours, Legolas and his friends rode south determined to make the best of their situation.  In a few days they would be parted, but for now they would tell merry tales and sing songs that were more bawdy than not.  Several times Erestor opened his mouth to protest, but Elrond silenced him each time.

"Let them have their fun, Erestor."

"But Estel is in their company," objected the tutor.  "Several of their songs are not fit for his young ears."

"I suspect," said Elrond, "that Halbarad will soon be collecting Estel from time to time for the purpose of introducing the young one to the ways of the Rangers.  The Dúnadain go amongst Men whom they call 'rough customers', so the occasional bawdy song will be in keeping with the company with which Estel will have to keep from time to time.  It would not do for Estel to develop tastes that are too finicky."

Erestor snorted.

"Small danger of that!"  He made no effort to disguise his ill opinion of the training proposed for young Estel.  Glorfindel, however, nodded approvingly.

"Yes, we wouldn't want the lad to grow up too squeamish.  He'll sometimes need to be a 'rough customer' himself to pass safely amongst some of the unsavory characters he will be forced to contend with."

After awhile, however, even Erestor should have been pleased with the somber air that descended upon the company.  The further they rode, the quieter Legolas became, until at last all became concerned.  Elrond urged his horse forward and rode alongside the young Elf.

"Legolas, you are very quiet.  Are you well?"

"I—yes—I—Elrond, something is wrong."

"Wrong?  How do you mean?"

"Something draws near.  Something evil."

"Here?  When we are still so close to the Great Hall?"

"Yes," save Legolas softly.  "So close to the Great Hall."

"Is it an Orc that you sense?  Or mayhap a spider?"

Feeling puzzled, Legolas shook his head.

"It is neither Orc nor spider nor warg.  I cannot make it out.  It is evil—but a sort of evil I have never encountered before."

"I wonder how something evil could have crept so close to the Hall without being perceived," mused Elrond.  He shook the thought off, however.  For now the immediate problem was safeguarding the company.  He rode back to speak quietly with Glorfindel and Gilglîr.

"Legolas senses danger," he said.

"If Legolas senses danger," observed Glorfindel, "it is wise to be prepared."

Gilglîr agreed.  Although he did not yet know Legolas as well as Glorfindel and the other Imladris Elves did, the Seneschal had seen enough to convince himself that the Prince was gifted even more than most Elves at sensing the approach of dark forces.  "We are too easy a target," he said, "clustered together as we are and mounted high upon our horses.  We must dismount and spread out, taking care to keep to the cover of the trees."

Glorfindel quietly gave the order to the Imladris Elves, and Gilglîr likewise alerted the Mirkwood Elves.  All dismounted, Erestor as usual taking care to position himself next to Estel.

They had scarcely taken this defensive maneuver when they heard the sound of an arrow being released, followed by another and another.  Soon the air was filled with missiles flying back and forth, the Imladris and Mirkwood Elves aiming toward where they estimated their assailants to be by the trajectory of the incoming missiles.  Strangely, no sounds were heard other than of shafts flying and striking trees and bushes and flesh.  Nor was there any sight of their foes.

"Why are they not charging?" wondered Glorfindel.  This was very un-Orcish behavior.  Usually Orcs lacked the discipline to maintain cover.  After shooting off a few volleys, they would charge into the open, where they could be easily cut down.  Orcs were so stupid, they generally only won battles when their forces were so superior that they overwhelmed the opposition.  Unfortunately, Orcs bred like cockroaches, which accounted for their increasing successes.  Yet today the hidden enemy was not heedlessly charging into a rain of elven arrows in an attempt to swamp the Elves with bodies both dead and alive.

After the exchange of arrows had gone on for some time, Elrond silently signaled to Glorfindel, and the balrog-slayer, as well as Elrohir, Elladan, and some others of the Rivendell Elves, melted away into the woods and outflanked their foes, thus coming up behind the line of trees from which their enemies were shooting.  At a signal from Glorfindel, the Imladris Elves released a withering fire into the unseen ranks of their opponents.  Now at last they did hear cries, but the shrieks did not sound very Orc-like.  Indeed, had it not been impossible, Elrond and the others would have sworn that the cries were those of Elves.  But, no, that could not be.  It was daylight and sunny; no Elf could have mistaken them for foes and launched such an attack.

Trapped between two lines of fierce and deadly elven archers, their enemies at last were quelled.  Fewer and fewer arrows were launched at the company, and at last the bows fell silent altogether.  All that could be heard were moans from the unseen injured—moans that, again, did not sound at all Orc-like.  Elrond and Gilglîr ordered their respective forces to cautiously search the area to put the wounded out of their misery and to gather up the bodies of the dead for burning.

Elrohir was the first to come upon a felled assailant, an injured one.  But he did not slay him.  Instead, horrified, he called for Elrond.  The wounded foe was an Elf.  True, his behavior was very un-Elflike, for he tried repeatedly and futilely to strike at Elrohir with a knife.  Yet in appearance there could be no doubt—this was an Elf who had been firing upon them, trying, albeit in vain, to kill them.  Appalled, Elrohir and the others resumed the search for the wounded and the dead.  The arrows had all been of Orc-make, but each and every slain and injured attacker proved to be an Elf.  Not only that, but their assailants were Mirkwood Elves.  Many Gilglîr recognized as having served in the Great Hall itself.

Among the latter was Dûredhel, the councilor who had argued that Tawarmaenas should not be numbered amongst the company.  Gilglîr now remembered that this one Elf had always sought to ingratiate himself with Legolas' cousin, often flattering him by asking his advice and then complimenting him upon his replies.  Now barely breathing, Dûredhel had been pierced by many arrows and was too badly injured to speak.  Elrond and Gilglîr tried to question several of the other survivors whose wounds were less severe.  Each behaved like the Elf first encountered by Elrohir.  They thrashed about, lashing out with knives at anyone who came near.  Carefully the frantic Elves were one by one disarmed and restrained as gently as possible, but no matter the kind treatment that they received, they refused to speak.  At last the elf-lords gave up the effort.  The Seneschal pondered for awhile and then spoke.

"I think I see how it was.  For centuries Dûredhel believed that it would be Tawarmaenas who would ascend to the throne, and through 'befriending' Tawarmaenas, he hoped to someday wield much power.  But your unforeseen return, Legolas, ruined his plan; hence he wished to do away with you in order to restore the status quo.  This explains why he was so anxious that Tawarmaenas remain safely behind in the Great Hall.  He did not wish to risk the life of the Elf through whom he hoped to rule some day."

"Do you suspect," said Elrond, "that Tawarmaenas had anything to do with this conspiracy?"

Legolas opened his mouth to protest, but Gilglîr silenced him with a look.

"After today," said the Seneschal slowly, "nothing would surprise me.  But, no, I do not believe that he knew of this conspiracy.  It was Tawarmaenas who convinced me that Legolas still lived, and it was Tawarmaenas who urged me to search for him.  These are hardly the actions of someone who hoped to ascend to the throne."

Glorfindel spoke.

"You have provided a motive for Dûredhel's treachery, but what of these others?  What could they have hoped to have gained by assassinating their prince?"

Gilglîr looked troubled.

"I do not know.  Let us search the Elves for some sign—letters, perhaps, or other tokens."

Carefully, they searched the wounded and the bodies of the slain.  It soon became apparent that each had carried a ring.  These rings were not, however, displayed openly on the hands of the Elves.  Rather the rings were worn on neck chains that were themselves hidden underneath the tunics of the warriors.  They were simple rings, unremarkable save for the fact that each and every one of the enemy Elves had borne one.  Gilglîr held one up to the sunlight, turning it each and every way, looking for any device or lettering.  There appeared to be none.  It was a simple, smooth ring of mithril, undecorated save for the beauty of the metal itself.

"These rings must signify their shared purpose," said Glorfindel.

"Or," opined Elrond, "they cast a spell upon the Elves.  Else how do you explain so many Elves betraying their King and Prince?"

"If that is so," warned Gilglîr, "we'd best handle them as little as possible, although we must of course continue to try to unravel their mystery."

"Mithrandir may be able to help us there," suggested Legolas.

"Aye," agreed Glorfindel, "or Saruman.  Are not the Rings of Power his especial study?"

"True," Elrond said slowly, almost reluctantly.  "If Gandalf is unable to help us, then mayhap Saruman can."

Legolas did not like this suggestion, but he kept quiet because he thought he could do nothing.  He did not know that Elrond had begun to share his uneasiness about the Istar of Isengard.

"For now," continued Elrond, "let us wrap them securely, and let the bundle be carried by a packhorse.  I do not want any of our Elves nearer than necessary to these rings, for I misdoubt that they are evil."

Gilglîr suggested that they instead divide the rings into two bundles.  He and Legolas and the other Mirkwood Elves would return to the Great Hall, and one of their packhorses would bear a bundle.  Once at the Great Hall, a message would be sent on to Lothlórien, seeking the guidance of the Lady.  Perhaps the rings would be sent on to her, should she desire to examine them.  The other bundle would accompany the Imladris Elves so that they might show the rings to Mithrandir when he rejoined their company.

This seemed sensible advice, and all agreed.

Now they gave some thought as to what was to be done with the dead and captured Elves.

"We do not know the cause of their treachery," save Legolas thoughtfully.  "If the dead acted under duress or enchantment, it seems unjust to consign them to mass burning without benefit of ceremony."

"True," agreed Gilglîr.  "We must take steps to return the bodies to their relatives so that the dead may be properly commemorated.  Whatever led them to behave so treacherously at the end, their lives were not without merit.  Moreover, even if they had been altogether evil, the fault was not that of their kinsmen, whose grief should not be compounded by their being denied the opportunity to farewell their dead fathers and sons and brothers."

"And what of the living?" said Elrond.

"It would be out of the question to slay the Elves as we do wounded Orcs," declared Legolas, "at least not until it becomes plain that they are past amendment.  If the rings had something to do with their treachery, perhaps the removal of those bands will itself start them on the path to recovering their wits."

It was in fact true that each and every injured Elf had become much calmer as soon as his ring had been wrested away from him.  This gave hope to Legolas and the others that the Elves could be restored to reason, although it was likely some would be in danger of fading from grief once they realized that they had ambushed their kinsmen and sought the death of their Prince.  At the very least, some in their sorrow and shame would choose to leave for the Grey Havens and so would be lost to Middle Earth.

"The Elves of Imladris will for now remain here," offered Elrond, "both to safeguard the bodies of the dead and to tend to the wounded.  It would not do for you Greenwood Elves to divide your party so that some remain and some ride back for help.  You cannot be certain that you will not be assailed as you return to the Hall; thus you should remain in as large a company as possible."

"Hannon le," said Gilglîr gratefully.  "Legolas, you should bid farewell to your friends.  Once we return to the Great Hall, Thranduil will send out many warriors to recover both the slain and the injured, but I doubt that you will be numbered amongst the riding."

Legolas doubted it as well, and he went to break the news to Elladan, Elrohir, and Estel that he would be riding back to the Hall and would be unlikely to return to accompany them any further on their journey.

"This must be farewell, my friends," he said sadly, "and it will probably be long before we see each other again.  After this attack, I am sure that my father will try to hold me close."

"You should point out to him," suggested Elladan, "that this attack took place within his realm.  It appears he is mistaken if he thinks he can keep you safe by imprisoning you within his domain."

"You may be sure that I will try that argument," said Legolas.  "But it is unlikely to do any good.  Perhaps," he added gloomily, "I should run away."

"NOOOO!!!" chorused all his friends.

"Legolas," said Elrohir firmly, "you are the Prince of Greenwood and heir to the throne.  You can no longer shirk your responsibilities.  Thranduil will not grant you as much freedom as you had formerly, but you shall have to make do."

"Easy for you to say," retorted Legolas.  "You have always had more choices than I have had!"

"Oh, the life of a prince is _soooo_ dreadful!"  scoffed Elrohir.

 "Elrohir, that's not fair," interjected Elladan.  "We two share the burden of the future of Imladris, but Legolas carries the fate of Mirkwood entirely upon his shoulders."

"He does have Tawarmaenas," argued Elrohir.

"Yes, as a steward, but you know it is not the same thing.  It is still Legolas who will have the ultimate responsibility for all decisions.  Whereas, as long as you and I both remain in Middle Earth, we will decide jointly what is best to be done."

"Which," crowed Elrohir triumphantly, "proves my point: Legolas cannot sidestep his duty for he shares it with no one."

Legolas had to smile at the flummoxed expression on Elladan's face.

"Enough, you two!  I promise I will not run away."

"Of course," Elrohir now suggested, a mischievous look upon his face, "it will probably not hurt your cause if you were to _threaten_ to run away from time to time."

Now Legolas laughed in earnest.

"Elrohir, one minute you speak as gravely as an elder; the next you are as impish as an elfling.  But you are probably right.  I have no wish to be sly, but I do not think I will tell Thranduil that I don't _ever_ mean to run off."

"That's lying by omission," announced Estel, who had been listening to this entire conversation with great interest.  "And it's the best sort of lying because it works as well as actually uttering an untruth but at the same time is not really lying at all."

"Oh, and who told you that?" asked Legolas.

"_You_ did!"

"I did!?"  Legolas looked silly.

"Yes, you did!  It was around the same time that you showed me how to escape the Hall by climbing down the trellis."

Elladan and Elrohir were now laughing immoderately, so much so that they attracted Erestor's attention.

"Here, now, what is this ruckus!?" he grumbled.

"Estel is revealing all of Legolas' secrets," shouted Elladan, "and look how he blushes!"

"Who?  Legolas or Estel?"

"Legolas, of course.  Estel never blushes."

"And if he did," Elrohir chimed in, "'twould never be apparent under all that grime!"

Here Estel _did_ blush, and he stood up and rapidly walked away.  The young Elves instantly sobered.

"I do believe," said Legolas softly, "that we have hurt Estel's feelings."

Elladan nodded thoughtfully.

"Estel is growing rapidly, both in stature and maturity.  He is not a grubby little boy any longer.  We shall have to remember that henceforth."

"My words were the most offensive," volunteered Elrohir.  "I will go and speak to him."

"Very well, brother," said Elladan, "but do tell him that we are all sorry."

Elrohir hastened after Estel.

"Estel," he called, "wait up."

"Why should I?" said Estel bitterly.  "I do not want to offend your sensitive elven nose."

"Estel, you do not smell like an Elf, 'tis true, but you do not smell like an Orc, either."

"A Troll, then?"

"No, not a Troll.  You smell like leaves and horses and earth, but such odors are not foul ones.  They are the ones properly belonging to a Ranger."

A hopeful look passed across Estel's face.

"A Ranger?"

"Aye, a Ranger."

Estel sometimes envied the Elves, for he felt his woodcraft inadequate when compared to theirs.  But for all his admiration of Elves, for all his attempts to emulate them, he did not want to be one.  No, he had always wanted to be a Ranger.  The Men of the North were tall and mysterious, their garb and demeanor hinting at adventures unguessed at by the Elves who for the most part dwelled in comfort in Rivendell.  It was a harsh life, Estel knew, but it was the one he wanted, and he was glad to be compared to a Ranger, even if only in odor!  The youth promptly forgave Elrohir and the others and cheerfully turned back with the young Elf.  It was a good thing, too, for the Mirkwood Elves were saddling up, and both Estel and Legolas would have been sad if they had parted on less than amiable terms.

A short while later Legolas was trying to maintain a dignified demeanor as he rode away with Gilglîr and the Greenwood Elves, but in the end he could not help but look back longingly.  There stood many whom he loved, the lad not the least.  "I wonder," he murmured to himself, "how much time will pass before I see them again."

He tried not to think it, but another thought there was that he could not keep from his mind: were there some in that party whom he would never again embrace?  It was only with the greatest effort of will that Legolas, Prince of Greenwood, kept himself from turning his horse about and galloping after his friends.


	21. The Gift Of Men

**Thanks to the following reviewers for their kind words and encouragement: _Kelly Kragen, Merenwen, Joee,_ and _Dragonfly.___**

**Thanks to _Dragonfly_ for her continuing her careful work as a beta reader even when I send her loooong chapters such as the previous one.******

**Chapter 21: The Gift of Men**

_"You will suffer pain and cold, fear and exhaustion, hunger and thirst."_

_He did not understand. What were these things that Manwë spoke off? Pain and cold, fear and exhaustion, hunger and thirst? Manwë divined his thoughts._

_"Novice that you are, you have had no experiences that would allow you to understand these sensations. But you will know them when you encounter them, and at the time they will seem torments indeed. But be sure that when you return to us, you will appreciate your place here all the more for having suffered them. It is the Gift of Men to appreciate greatly the pleasures that do come their way, for they comprehend the alternative in a fashion that no Maia can—at least no Maia who has not taken on their form and walked amongst them."_

_"I will take on the form of a Man?"_

_"Aye, an agéd Man, an elder, one numbered amongst the Wise. For it is counsel and encouragement that you should proffer most. Do not rely overmuch upon your powers!"_

_"What will I be called whilst I sojourn in Arda?"_

_"Go first to the Eldar. They will know who you are."_

_Manwë had left him. He was on a boat, staring down at hands that were wrinkled and mottled with age. He raised a hand to his face and stroked the tangled hair that hung down from his chin. A beard, Manwë had called it. He heard a bird cry and glanced up. A seagull. He looked to the west and saw land. The Grey Havens. As the boat drew near, he saw an Elf awaiting him upon the shore. Círdan, he thought, Guardian of the Havens. He stepped ashore, and Círdan opened his mouth to speak. He said—_

"Mithrandir? Mithrandir? Can you hear me?"

Gandalf opened his eyes and looked about in a daze. Where was he? Oh, yes, Edoras. Fengel peered down anxiously at him. He held a bowl in one hand and a flask in the other.

"My friend, you have slept a full turning of the sun since we brought you here. You will sleep your way into your eternal rest if you do not rouse yourself enough to partake a little of food and drink."

Fengel laid the bowl and flask upon a table and helped Gandalf to sit up against some pillows propped against the headboard of the bed. Then he held the flask to the wizard's mouth. Gandalf took a mouthful and then spluttered.

"Beer! You dose your wounded with beer!?"

"Of course. You need to put on some weight, Mithrandir, and beer is well known for doing that to a Man."

"Yes, if I wanted a paunch!"

Fengel laughed.

"You would have to drink barrels of beer before you developed a paunch. Don't those Elves feed you?"

"They most certainly do," replied Gandalf indignantly. "And very well, too, I might add. But I don't always dwell amongst the Elves, and when I am on my own, I do confess that my meals are sometimes, well, irregular and scanty."

"I'll tell you what you need, my friend," smiled Fengel. "You need a wife. I could arrange—"

"No!" exclaimed Gandalf. "I do _not_ need a wife! Although," he added to himself, "if I did want one, there is that one elleth in Thranduil's Great Hall—"

"Mithrandir?" Fengel interrupted his thoughts. "Mithrandir, come back. You have not had enough sustenance to slip back into dreams. Come. You must eat."

With an effort, Gandalf roused himself again and looked suspiciously at the bowl that Fengel proffered. The Rider laughed at his expression.

"'Tis only gruel, Mithrandir. Do you want me to feed you, or can you hold the spoon yourself?"

"I'll manage," the wizard huffed. Carefully he took the bowl and brought a spoonful to his mouth. "There. You see. I'm quite capable of looking out for myself."

"Yes," teased Fengel. "Which is why you were sprawled face down at a crow's banquet."

Gandalf shuddered. He did not want to be reminded of _that_!

"Has a Rider been dispatched to Lothlórien to inform them of my whereabouts?"

"Yes, and the Rider brought back the message that the news would be sent on to Mirkwood. No doubt some of your friends will shortly appear to collect you."

Gandalf sighed with contentment. This would be one time when he would be glad to be 'collected'. Manwë had promised him 'pain and cold, fear and exhaustion, hunger and thirst'. He had not, however, mentioned the friendships that to Gandalf's mind had more than counterbalanced the sufferings that he had endured and would continue to endure. When this task had been appointed him, he had dreaded it. Now, he knew that there was something he dreaded more: the day when he would be forced to relinquish the Gift of Men and return to the Grey Havens, thus forsaking his friends.

"Mithrandir," Fengel said chidingly. "You said you could feed yourself."

Gandalf recalled himself to the present and dutifully swallowed another mouthful. If he didn't want to relinquish the Gift prematurely, he had better eat!

After Gandalf had finished the bowl of gruel and drunk a little more beer, Fengel was at last satisfied and left him to his rest. As he lay there, eyes closed, relishing the softness of the mattress and the coolness of the sheets, he heard a slight noise. Opening his eyes, he saw three youngsters peering at him from behind a wall hanging—two boys and a girl. The girl looked very similar to one of the boys, and Gandalf thought they might be brother and sister. He smiled encouragingly at them, and those two ventured nearer. The third child remained behind the hanging, however, warily scrutinizing the wizard.

"Who might you be?" Gandalf gently said to the two who had drawn near.

The boy answered.

"I am Theoden son of Thengel, and this is my sister Théodwyn. Our grandfather is King Fengel. Yonder," he added, gesturing to the tapestry, "is Gríma son of Gríma."

Gandalf smiled at Gríma son of Gríma, but the boy did not smile back. There was something about the boy that the wizard found vaguely unsettling, but he could not pin down what it was. Perhaps it was the odd appearance that his face took on from the lightness of his eyebrows. Indeed, Gandalf could not see that the boy had any eyebrows at all, and their absence, when combined with the child's thin lips and scanty hair, gave a somewhat reptilian cast to his face. This was unfortunate, thought Gandalf sympathetically, and he hoped the boy did not suffer overmuch for it.

Theoden drew nearer.

"Is it true," he said solemnly, "that you are a magician? Will you perform some tricks for us?"

"I prefer," replied Gandalf, "to be considered a wizard, and, no, I will be performing no tricks. I am feeling rather low. Also, my staff is broken. In fact," he added, looking around the chamber, "I seem to have lost it and may need a new one altogether."

Gríma at last spoke.

"_My_ father," he announced, "can pull gold coins from my ear, and perform all manner of other tricks. He is a very clever man, my father."

"No doubt he is," answered Gandalf.

"But he is no warrior," Theoden pointed out.

"He is too valuable to be ventured in battle," Gríma replied haughtily. "Anyone can be a warrior. _My_ father is a councilor to the King. And I shall be one as well," he added. "I shall advise you, Theoden, so that the decisions you make are wise ones."

Gandalf expected Theoden to utter an angry reply, but the boy merely shrugged good-naturedly.

"If you are like your father, you will hardly ever ride about outside in the sun. You will be as pale as a grub. It's not the life I'd want for myself, but if it's what you desire, you are welcome to it!"

Gríma's eyes glittered, making him look even more snakelike, and Gandalf found himself hoping that he was not indeed destined to grow up to be one of Theoden's advisers. Just then someone cleared his throat, and Gríma darted back behind the tapestry. Theoden and Théodwyn, however, calmly turned in the direction of the sound. Fengel had returned. He spoke in a voice both mild and stern.

"I do not recall giving you youngsters permission to disturb the rest of our visitor."

"I am sorry, grandfather," answered Theoden. "We did not mean to disturb him. We only meant to take a peek at him, but he heard us, seemingly."

"See that it does not happen again. Now be off with you. 'Tis too fine a day for children to be indoors. You too, Gríma," Fengel added, directing his attention to the tapestry. "I know you are behind that wall hanging."

Gríma slithered out from behind the tapestry and, hugging the wall, made for the door. Once there, he looked back at Gandalf and at last smiled at him. Gandalf had to force himself to smile in return, for he sensed that the smile was more ingratiating than friendly. "That one will bear watching," he thought to himself.

Fengel sat down upon a chair.

"I have been just talking with my councilor Gríma," he said.

"That one's father?" said Gandalf, nodding toward the door.

"No, his grandfather. The boy is Gríma son of Gríma son of Gríma. His family has long served my family."

"Ah," said Gandalf, now understanding Theoden's nonchalant reaction to Gríma's impertinence. "Well, then, what does this oldest Gríma say?"

"Given that it may be some time before your friends will arrive, Gríma suggests it might be best if we carry you to Isengard so that you may be tended by Saruman, the head of your order. As he is a wizard and you are a wizard, he might better understand what medicine is needful for you to recover quickly and fully."

Gandalf shook his head.

"If you would not mind, I would rather remain at Edoras. My friends expect to find me here, and I would not add to their labors on my behalf. Moreover, no especial potions are needful, for the Orc blade was not poisoned, and I am mending well. I have suffered more from hunger and thirst than from the wound itself. Indeed, were I to move, I believe that itself might interfere with my healing, for the journey would tire me."

"I think you are right, Mithrandir, but I promised Gríma that I would pass on his advice. Well, that's settled then. You will remain here and recuperate until you friends arrive to fetch you away. Do not hesitate to ask for anything that you need or desire. More beer, perhaps?"

Fengel spoke the latter sentence with a smile on his face, and Gandalf smiled back.

"No, thank you, but I will take some wine, if you have some."

"Lucky for you we keep some wine on hand for elven emissaries. I will see that a bottle is brought to you. Do you think you might be able to eat anything more substantial than gruel?"

"Yes, I think I could."

"Good. Something tasty and nourishing will be brought to you forthwith. Is there anything else we might furnish you?"

"Do you know aught of my staff? I seem to have misplaced it."

"Your staff? I believe Gríma took it for safekeeping, to be delivered up again upon your recovery."

"I should like to have it now, if that wouldn't be too much trouble."

"I will tell Gríma to bring it to you at once."

"Thank you, my friend."

Fengel arose and departed the chamber, and shortly thereafter Gríma arrived bearing Gandalf's staff. He seemed reluctant to relinquish it, however.

"Master Mithrandir, you will be abed several more days. Your staff would be much safer in my keeping."

"Why is that, Master Gríma? Is there a thief about?"

"Oh, no," Gríma replied hastily. "But as the top is splintered, someone might mistake it for a piece of waste wood and consign it to the fire."

"I shall keep it close," Gandalf assured him. "And, as it is warm, there is no fire in this chamber."

"Very well," said Gríma unhappily. "If you are quite sure."

"I am," said Gandalf firmly.

Gríma hesitated a moment more, but Gandalf looked at him levelly, and the councilor slowly handed over the staff.

"May I serve you in any other way, Master Gandalf?"

"Thank you, but I think not, Master Gríma."

A knock was heard at the door just then, and a servant arrived bearing a bottle of wine and a goblet. Gríma excused himself then, and Gandalf indulged himself in a glass before drifting off to sleep.

Several hours later, he suddenly awoke. Someone was in his chamber. The staff was lying by his bed, and he quietly laid hold of it. Damaged though it was, at a muttered incantation it gave off a soft glow. In its light stood a startled Gríma, who was clutching the wine bottle. Gandalf had thought that he had replaced the stopper, but Gríma held the cork in his hand.

"What are you doing?" the wizard said sharply.

The councilor quickly recovered his countenance.

"Your pardon, Master Mithrandir," he said smoothly. "I did not wish to disturb you. I merely came to fetch the wine back to the wine cellar, lest it spoil uncorked in the warmth of this room."

"Is it your custom to perform such errands in the dead of night?"

"I often stay up late in the service of my Lord the King. I was just going to my rest when I bethought myself of this one last task that I could perform."

"So dedicated a servant," said Gandalf sarcastically.

Gríma ignored the tone and bowed as if the compliment were sincere.

"Would you prefer that I leave the wine here for you, Master Mithrandir, even though it has quite lost its chill?"

"No," said Gandalf decidedly, giving Gríma a hard look. "I will not drink any more from that bottle. Or from any other bottle whose seal has been broken," he added to himself.

"Very well, Master Mithrandir. I bid you good night."

Gandalf inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, and Gríma left the room. As soon as the councilor was gone, the wizard arose and bolted the door. Then he returned to his bed. This time, however, he placed the staff in the bed beside him, and for the remainder of his stay in Edoras, that is how he slept, an arm curved around his staff. No infant ever fisted his blanket more tightly than Gandalf held on to that staff. Truly he clutched that stick of wood as if his life depended upon it—and that, as Erestor would no doubt have pointed out, is no metaphor.


	22. To Save A Friend

**Beta reader: _Dragonfly_ the Dauntless.**

_Karri: _Tolkien provides virtually everyone with a past and a genealogy except for Gandalf.  Well, 'nature abhors a vacuum', and so do writers of fanfiction.

_Dragonfly: _Yes, the Gríma clan does seem to be multiplying.  Maybe they are distant kin of Agent Smith.

_Joee__: _That would be an interesting Family Feud episode: the Gríma clan against the Halbarad family.  Oops, I feel a parody coming on.  _Joee__,_ you've got to stop doing this to me!

_Kelly Kragen: _Yes, Gríma was doing something to the wine.  If I know Gríma, he was probably adding something that would make Gandalf sick enough for Fengel to decide that he needed to be sent to Isengard after all.  Then, while Gandalf lies in a delirium, Saruman could question him to find out what was making him so interested in the Shire.  Hmm, note to author: possible chapter.  Deposit a sick and helpless Gandalf in the tower of Orthanc.  Darn!  I swear that those plot bunnies are at least as prolific as Gríma, Halbarad, and Agent Smith combined.

**Chapter 22: To Save A Friend**

Gilglîr insisted that the company of Mirkwood Elves return to the Great Hall at a full gallop, hard as that was upon the horses.  True, Legolas had not sensed danger until they had reached the place at which they had been attacked, but Gilglîr wished to take no chances.  The unthinkable had happened: Elves had turned traitor and tried to assassinate their prince.  Now Gilglîr had to consider the possibility that more treachery might be in the offing and another attempt would be made to murder the young Elf.  It was all too likely that Dûredhel would not have expended all his forces at one throw.  Of course, Gilglîr mused, if this were so, then even the Great Hall might be a perilous place for Legolas.  What was there to stop an enemy Elf, indistinguishable from his peers, from attempting to murder the Prince within the walls of his own bedchamber?  His very food would now be suspect, for someone might try to poison him.  The extent of the conspiracy was unknown, and until it was, extraordinary steps would have to be taken to safeguard the prince.

Gilglîr was right in the main: not all their enemies had participated in the attack.  The next blow, however, would not be aimed directly at Legolas.  It was the Imladris Elves who would bear the brunt of the second assault.

Elrond and Glorfindel, too, had been mindful of the possibility that not all their foes had taken part in the first attack, and they set about establishing a defensive perimeter.

"Put all the wounded in the center," ordered Glorfindel.  "You eight Elves there, up into the trees at regular intervals.  Keep a sharp eye out for anything that approaches, even if only a squirrel or a crow.  More than Elves may have turned traitor."

It was not long before one of the lookouts had something to report—but it was neither a squirrel nor a crow that drew near.

"My Lords," an Elf called softly, "to the west march many Orcs."

"Are they coming this way?" asked Elrond.

"Yes, my Lord," the Elf replied.  "Directly this way.  They move purposefully.  I think they know that we are here."

Elrond nodded.  He was not surprised.  Clearly the traitor Elves had been in communication with dark forces.  It was not Dûredhel's ambition alone that accounted for the conspiracy.  Likely he was no more than a tool subverted by promises of riches and power.  While these held little appeal for most Elves, the ring that Dûredhel had borne may have exaggerated any slight inclination he had toward amassing these material things.  And the ring could only have had such an effect if a powerful spell had been set upon it at the time of its making.  Who but the Dark Lord would have the knowledge or skill to have accomplished this? 

There was as yet no sign of any foes to the north, south, or east, so Glorfindel ordered all Elves but the lookouts to assemble to the west, thus creating a wall of warriors between the wounded and the oncoming Orcs.  The lookouts estimated that the enemy numbered in the hundreds.  Glorfindel and Elrond knew that their small force would be hard put to hold off such a large number of reckless Orcs who would be heedless of their own safety, but they were resolutely determined to do their best.  If matters seemed hopeless, they would indeed abandon their positions, for they had the safety of their own Elves to think about, as well as that of Estel, last surviving descendant of Isildur and the hope of the West.

On the Orcs marched without swerving, trampling the vegetation as they came.  They carried only scimitars, and Elrond and Glorfindel knew that they planned to overwhelm the Elves by their sheer numbers, not even bothering to first mount an assault by bow that might have spared some of their carcasses.  So much did their evil commander care for the lives of his underlings, Elrond thought grimly.  His own bowmen stood at the ready, awaiting a signal from Glorfindel.  As the ranks of the Orcs came within range, the balrog-slayer ordered that the first volley be let loose.  Orcs in the first row stumbled and fell, but their fellows, not deterred in the least, clambered over their dead and the dying comrades.  A second volley was released, and a third, but still the Orcs advanced, so depraved as to be indifferent to their own lives, let alone those of their companions.  The Elves prepared for hand to hand combat, and the Orcs crashed into their lines.

The first wave of Orcs pushed the Elves back several feel, but so determined and resolute were the Fair Folk that they managed to regain that ground almost immediately.  Their foes were relatively well trained as Orcs go but still were no match for the discipline and skill of the Elves.  One Elf was more than a match for two Orcs.

Unfortunately, however, the goblins had more than a two to one advantage over their opponents.  Several Elves were injured and had to withdraw from the fight.  They were not replaced.  For every Orc that fell, though, it seemed as if three or four sprung up in its place.  Little by little, the Imladris Elves were forced to fall back.  As they did so, they were barely able to drag their own wounded to safety.  As for the injured Mirkwood Elves, there could be no thought of bearing them away.  Such Rivendell Elves as were not already carrying injured companions were serving as a rear guard to cover their retreat.

Step by step the Imladris Elves were pushed toward the east.  Behind them they could hear wails and screams that did not come from the mouths of Orcs.  Long did they hear those sounds in their dreams.

Suddenly, the pursuing Orcs gave off pressing them and withdrew.  The woods fell silent.  Not a scream did they hear.  Not a moan.  Glorfindel and Elrond regrouped their forces into a tight circle and then, taking a few scouts, slowly stole back toward the campsite.   They were met by a horrifying sight.   

Every single one of the wounded Greenwood Elves had been slaughtered.  Dûredhel, their erstwhile leader, had been slain with particular brutality, hewn with many strokes, his head struck from his shoulders.  Shocked and grieving, the Imladris Elves stood silently looking upon the butchered Elves.

"I think," said Elrond at last, "that our surmises about the rings were correct.  Once the power of the rings had worn off, the Elves would have spoken and revealed the source of this treachery.  Someone did not wish this to happen, and so Orcs were sent to slay the survivors.  Dûredhel, was, I deem, no more than a tool in the hands of someone more powerful."

"Sauron, no doubt," growled Glorfindel.

"I do not know," said Elrond thoughtfully.  "It would hardly be necessary for Sauron to hide his perfidious nature, for this we already know."

"Then the Dark Lord must have an ally still surviving amongst Thranduil's Elves, and that fact he would hide."

"Perhaps," said Elrond noncommittally.  "Or mayhap there is something else at work here."

Just then Elrohir and Elladan hurried up.  They had gone to check on the horses, which had been left behind during the retreat.

"Ada," said Elladan breathlessly.  "The packhorse is missing, the one bearing the bundle that contains the rings."

"Are any other horses missing?"

"No, Ada," answered Elrohir, "only that one."

"'Tis good we divided the rings betwixt ourselves and the Mirkwood Elves," observed Glorfindel.

"True," said Elrond, "but I pray that Legolas and his company were not attacked so that the remainder might be stolen away by our enemies.  He did not sense any danger until we reached this spot, so it is to be hoped that no foes stand between him and the Great Hall.  Still, enemies could have moved in after we passed by.  We will know shortly, however, for it should not take long for Legolas to attain the Hall and for a relief column to be sent out.  If no help reaches us by dawn, we shall have to consider what to do.  Until then, let us tend to our wounded."

Elrond and the others returned to where the rest of the Elves awaited them.  To his dismay, as he o'erlooked the company, he realized that Erestor lay prone upon the ground, Estel kneeling next to him.  Elrond hastened to him, cold fingers of fear clutching at his heart.  As he drew near, he saw with alarm that Erestor's eyes were open but unfocused.  To Elrond's relief, however, as he knelt beside Erestor, his friend stirred and his eyes came into focus, albeit he still looked a little dazed.  It was Estel who had to explain what happened.

"An enormous Orc came after me with a club, but Erestor leaped between me and the brute.  The club hit Erestor on the side of the head and knocked him out."

"And then?" said Elrond.

"Well," said Estel modestly, "when the Orc bent over to finish off Erestor with a knife, I leapt unto his back and cut his throat.  There he lies yonder."

Sure enough, off to the side lay a dead Orc, a gaping wound in his neck.

Elrond nodded approvingly.

"Good work, the two of you.  Now let me tend to you, Erestor."

"Don't worry about me," said Erestor.  "'Tis only a little bump on the head.  Look to the others who are injured more seriously."

"I'll take care of him," Estel offered.  To Elrond's surprise, the young human drew forth a pouch and opened it to reveal several carefully preserved athelas leaves.  "I know what to do," the youth told the Lord of Imladris.  "I have been watching you carefully, for a warrior must be a healer, to safeguard both himself and his companions."

Impressed, Elrond left Erestor in Estel's hands.  As he moved off to treat more seriously wounded Elves, he resolved to add formal lessons in the healing arts to Estel's training.  "Estel is right," he said to himself.  "I have hitherto neglected his education in this area, but henceforth he will indeed be trained as both a healer and a warrior."

Shortly before dawn the Imladris Elves, weary from tending the wounded and gathering the dead, at last heard the sound of hoofbeats.  They were expecting a relief column, but they nonetheless immediately moved into defensive positions in case more treachery was in the offing.  Fortunately, the scouts on point soon saw that Gilglîr rode at the head of the approaching warriors, and the Rivendell Elves were ordered to stand down by a relieved Elrond.

As he rode into the camp, Gilglîr saw at once that the Elves had been subject to a second attack.  When he had departed, only a few of the Imladris Elves had been wounded, and those only lightly.  Now he saw that several were injured, and those more severely.  Anxiety upon his face, he dismounted, but Elrond stayed him before he could express his concern over the well-being of the Rivendell Elves.  "I am sorry, Gilglîr," said the Lord of Imladris, his head bowed with grief and shame.  "There are no Greenwood Elves to be restored to the arms of their kin.  We were forced back by a large company of Orcs, and by the time we recovered the camp, each and every one of the injured Elves had been slain.  Indeed, we suspect that this was the reason for the attack—to do away with the survivors in order to stop their mouths."

Stunned, Gilglîr could not speak for several minutes.  He had brought not only horses and Elves but also litters on which the wounded might be borne back to the Great Hall.  The litters would now be of use only as biers to transport the dead with dignity.

When at last Gilglîr did recover his voice, he laid a comforting hand upon Elrond's arm.

"You did what you could, mellon-nîn.  Do not blame yourself for their deaths.  I see from the injuries your own warriors have suffered that you held out for as long as possible.  Sorrow not.  The dead forfeited their lives when they became traitors; you could not be expected to sacrifice yourselves for them—and a vain sacrifice it would have been, too.  Better that you and yours should live than that all should die together, both the guilty and the innocent."

Elrond nodded gratefully.  Gilglîr saw that he and all the other Rivendell Elves were sad and weary, and he took charge, commanding them to rest and setting his own Elves to fetching wood and water and doing all else that was needful.  The Rivendell Elves slept through that day and the night that followed.  The next morning, Elrond, Glorfindel, and Gilglîr gathered to decide what was best to be done.

"You would be welcome to return with us to the Great Hall," Gilglîr offered, "so that your wounded may recuperate."

Elrond thanked him but declined the offer.

"I have checked on each warrior.  There is none so badly injured that he cannot ride, albeit at a slow pace, and all are anxious to return home.  We have been gone many months now."

"I understand," said Gilglîr.  "In that case, my warriors and I will escort you until you are safe upon the plain, where no enemy force can come upon you without your perceiving them from a great distance."

"Thank you," said Glorfindel, his relief unmistakable.

"But what of your dead?" asked Elrond.  "You will not leave them unguarded?"

"Safeguarding the living is of much greater import," replied Gilglîr grimly.  "We will pile brush over the bodies of the Elves to discourage the birds at least.  Moreover, the heap of Orc bodies is very large—perhaps enough so that other scavengers will be attracted to their carcasses alone and not seek for other carrion.  Then, on our return, we will retrieve the remains of our dead and convey them to the Hall.  This is the best that their kinsmen can hope for."

"Would that it were not so," said Elrond sadly.  "In all my long years, never have we left our dead to the mercy of scavengers."

"I think," said Gilglîr, "that we are coming into a time when we will have to perform many deeds that have been hitherto inconceivable.  The Enemy will press us hard, and we will have neither the time nor the strength to adhere to many of our cherished customs."

"I am afraid Gilglîr is right," said Glorfindel later as he rode by Elrond toward the border of Mirkwood.  "Henceforth we must judge our actions by whether or not they secure the safety of the living—aye, and there may even come a day when we will have to abandon our own wounded as we abandoned Gilglîr's."

"No," said Elrond firmly.  "That I will never do.  Not if there is another way."

"Another way?"

"Aye.  Rather than leave them for the cruel entertainment of our enemies, I would slay them myself.  I would rather be burdened with their blood upon my hands than with the knowledge that I left them to suffer at the hands of Orcs or other fell beasts."

Glorfindel gazed intently at his friend.

"I am glad to hear you say that, mellon-nîn.  For if I should lie injured too badly to make my way to safety, I would welcome death at your hands as a last gesture of friendship."

"And I from you."

The two friends rode on, each hoping that he would not be forced to perform that office on behalf of the other but each also secure in the knowledge that should he himself require such a merciful release, his friend would vouchsafe it to him.  Such was the strength of their friendship that either would have been grateful to have died at the hands of the other.

It may seem odd to us, so far from the end of the Third Age, that Elves should take comfort in such a pact, but is a measure of the evil that they confronted in those days.  Such are the hard choices one must make when one's foes lack even the slightest shred of pity and honor.  Not to give up pity and honor oneself, but to exercise it in such a way as to take on a sorrow and a guilt that can never be expiated.  For that is the burden one assumes by becoming a slayer of kin and of friend in order to save them from a worse fate.  The Valar be praised that neither Elrond nor Glorfindel was forced to act so on behalf on the other; the Valar also be praised that both would have been willing.


	23. The Enemy Within

**A few readers have been appealing for a certain something to happen, and it does in this chapter.  Obviously, I'm not going to say what because that would spoil the plot twist.**

**For you fans who like angst, a bit of a scene between Legolas and Thranduil.**

**Beta reader: _Dragonfly_ the Undeterred.**

**For their encouragement, thanks to _Dragonfly_ and _Slivertongue_.******

**Chapter 23: The Enemy Within**

Before Gilglîr had left at the head of the relief column, he took care to warn Thranduil not to say anything precipitous to Legolas.

"Thranduil, you may be tempted to say something along the lines of 'I told you so'.  I beg you to restrain yourself.  You will not be helping matters.  Moreover, although you will of course wish to take steps to safeguard your son, do nothing hasty or rash."

"Nothing hasty or rash!" said Thranduil angrily.  "Someone tried to slay my son—may still try to slay my son—and you beg me to be neither hasty nor rash.  Pray, what _am_ I permitted to do—fling open the doors of the Great Hall and shout, 'Here is my son!  Come riddle him with arrows!'?"

"Don't be silly, Thranduil," replied Gilglîr, unperturbed by the King's outburst.  "For the next several days, Legolas should mainly keep to his chamber, with a guard of your most reliable warriors on duty before his door at all times.  He should not leave the Hall for the time being, and when he moves about the Hall, he should be escorted.  Moreover, Edwen Nana should choose and prepare his foods.  But do not confine him to his room altogether.  And for the love of the Valar, do not go ranting to Legolas and utter such foolishness as, 'You will never again set foot outside the Great Hall'!  Finally, he is of age and ought to be included in discussions about what steps will be taken in the future to secure his safety.  Do not simply decree that this or that will be done.  I said I didn't think that he would run away, but I could be wrong.  And even if he does not go so far as to abscond, he can be very creative in finding ways to resist orders that he resents.  Do not push him too far!"

Thranduil had to grudgingly concede that what Gilglîr said was wise, and he promised to follow his advice.  After the seneschal had departed, the King sat in his private chamber for a little while, calming himself and thinking over the coming conversation with his son.  At last he thought himself ready, and he made his way to his son's chamber, where a picked guard stood at the ready.  He knocked upon the door and was answered by a very subdued 'Enter'.

If Thranduil had been inclined to rant before entering his son's room, one glance at Legolas would have cured him of the impulse.  His son lay on his back upon his bed, arms limp by his sides, staring bleakly up at the ceiling, a downcast expression upon his face.

"I suppose," he said tonelessly, "that you have come to tell me something along the lines of 'You will never again set foot outside the Great Hall'."

To Thranduil's surprise, he found himself smiling.  He sat down on the bed beside his son, took one of his hands, and gently stroked it.

"No, ion-nîn, I have come to tell you no such thing.  I will ask you to exercise great care for the next several days, until we get to the root of this conspiracy, and you will no doubt chafe at some of the restrictions, but by no means are you to become a prisoner in your own kingdom.  I think we are both too tired to discuss the particulars at the moment, but as soon as Gilglîr returns, the three of us will put our heads together and determine a course of action that will permit you considerable liberty whilst still keeping your safety paramount."

Legolas turned his head and stared at his father in surprise.

"Truly, Ada?"

"Truly."

"And until then?"

"Here is what Gilglîr has suggested as temporary measures: you should remain within the Hall, you should mainly keep to your chamber, which will be guarded at all times, and you should be escorted when you do leave this room."

"Temporary measures?"

"Yes, temporary measures.  They would be onerous if they were to be permanent restrictions, but I hope you will be able to bear them if you keep in mind that it shall only be for a little while.  Can you do that?"

"Yes," said Legolas thoughtfully.  "Yes, I can bear such restrictions for a little while.  And when Gilglîr returns, they may be amended?"

"May and _will_," said Thranduil decisively.  "I am sure that between the three of us, we ought to be able to come up with ways of keeping you both happy and safe."

He arose and looked fondly down at his son, who smiled up at him.

"For the time being, as you will be spending more time than usual in your chamber, is there anything that can be furnished you to make the room more appealing?"

Legolas considered.

"Yes," he said after a minute.  "Could you have stars painted upon the ceiling?"

"It shall be done," declared his father.  "And would you also like trees painted upon the walls—no, wait, I have a better idea.  There is a young Elf—he is about your age, I think—who is marvelously talented at woodcarving.  So skilled is he that he could transform your room into a forest, festooning the walls with columns that look like trees wrapped round with the tendrils of vines.  Would that please you?"

Legolas grinned.

"It would please me very much, Ada."

"Good!  Tomorrow he will be sent for!  Oh, there is one matter I forgot to mention."

Legolas instantly sobered and looked nervously at his father.

"Gilglîr also suggested"—Thranduil paused for effect—"Gilglîr also suggested that Edwen Nana choose and cook your food.  Do you think you can bear that?"

Relieved, Legolas laughed.

"Yes, I think I can endure that measure very well indeed.  Nana is an excellent cook.  Just do not tell me that she must also supervise my bath to safeguard me from drowning!"

"Hmm, that is an excellent idea—Gilglîr must have neglected to mention it."

Both Elves were laughing now.  Legolas suddenly sat up and threw his arms around his father.

"I missed you, Ada," he cried.  "I wanted so badly to be with you.  But I didn't think you wanted me!"

"And now," said Thranduil, trying to sound light-hearted but unable to keep his voice from shaking, "you know that I have to struggle to restrain myself from locking you up, so badly do I want to keep you."

Legolas giggled in a strangled sort of way.

"I suppose I should keep that in mind when I am inclined to rail against the restrictions that you place upon me.  I wanted you to love me, and I have certainly gotten my wish, haven't I!?"

"You have," agreed Thranduil, his voice still a trifle unsteady.  "And I mine," he said to himself.  Aloud he said, "I have just thought of something else."

This time Legolas did not look apprehensive.  Instead, he said teasingly, "Do not tell me that you are going to take advantage of my words by laying on more restrictions!"

Thranduil laughed heartily, in a way that would have sounded familiar to Legolas' mother.

"Nothing like that.  It occurs to me that for the next few days you will not after all be spending much time in this chamber, for if it is to be redecorated, you must stay elsewhere.  Now where shall I bestow you?" he said, pretending to reflect.  "Perhaps a room in the dungeon would do.  I did threaten to place you there one time, did I not?  No?  Would you mind sharing with Tawarmaenas for a few days, then?" 

 Legolas said he would be delighted to share Tawarmaenas' chamber.

"You don't think he would mind the intrusion, do you, Ada?"

"We will ask him, of course, but I doubt it.  He is always pleased to be in your company.  He was very disappointed not to be allowed to join the riding, as I am sure that you know."

"But it was a good thing that he wasn't along, given how things turned out," said Legolas thoughtfully.  "I would not wish him thrown into peril on my account."

Gilglîr had quickly explained to Thranduil his suspicions about Dûredhel's motives, and the King thought to himself that if Legolas' cousin had accompanied him, the attack likely would have been postponed.  Still, perhaps it was best that it came when it did.  Glorfindel had a mighty reputation as a warrior, and Elrond's sons were becoming well known for their fighting prowess as well.  Thranduil could not help but be glad that they had been on hand to augment his own forces. 

Tawarmaenas said he would indeed be pleased if Legolas were to share his chamber for the next several days, and Legolas cheerfully seized a few items of clothing and joined him in preparing to retire.  He almost felt like an elfling again as they tussled over the bedclothes before they both drifted into slumber.  Outside the door stood the watchful guards, who had of course been pulled from their position by Legolas' room, which stood just around a bend in the corridor.

Sometime during the night Legolas woke up feeling very cold.  Tawarmaenas had rolled this way and that, and the entire blanket was wrapped around him, making him look very much as if he were enclosed in a cocoon.  Shivering, Legolas slipped out of the bed and padded to the door.  When he opened it, he saw six very alert guards staring back at him.

"May we help you, Prince Legolas?" asked their leader.

"I am going to fetch my blanket," smiled Legolas, "as my cousin will not share!"

The guards smiled back at him, but the leader insisted on accompanying him.  Legolas thought it was silly to escort him to the next chamber, but he did not argue, instead shrugging it off secure in the knowledge that the restrictions would be lifted after a time.  Legolas and the guard went around the corner, and the guard stood respectfully outside as Legolas went into the chamber.  He had hardly taken two steps when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.  The prince spun around and seized by the wrist a descending arm that clutched a dagger in its fist.  Legolas wrenched away the dagger and tossed it aside.  It landed noiselessly upon the bed, and the assailant brought his other hand to Legolas' throat and began to squeeze.  Legolas grappled for his enemy's own throat, and as he did so, his hand snagged on a chain.  The chain snapped, and something metallic clinked upon the floor.  Instantly, Legolas' attacker released him and stepped back.  "Guard," shouted Legolas, but the sentry, alerted by the sound of the falling object, was already leaping into the room, sword drawn.  The attacker, however, stood quite still.

Legolas lit a candle and held it up.  It was a young Elf who had attacked him, and he seemed to be in a daze, looking about as if he knew not where he was.

"I know him," said the guard.  "That is Dûredhel's nephew, his sister-son."

Legolas bent down and picked up the fallen object.  It proved to be a mithril ring identical to the ones that had been removed from the bodies of the dead and injured Elves.

"Where did you get this?" he asked the young Elf.

"It was in an envelope that my uncle said I should open if he were ever killed or injured.  He said that the envelope contained something that would help me bear up in these hard times.  Word came yesterday that he had been badly wounded, and I did as he said.  I opened the envelope.  In it was that ring upon a chain, and I donned it."

"And then?"

The Elf looked bewildered.

"I remember fastening the chain around my neck, but I do not remember anything more.   What chamber is this?  I have never been in it before."

"This is my chamber."

"Your chamber, my Lord?  I have no business in your chamber."

"True," said Legolas wryly.  "Return to your own at once, and if you value your life, say nothing of this matter."

"Is that wise, Prince Legolas?" asked the guard.  "Should he not be placed under guard?"

"Not for my sake, but perhaps for his.  He won't make another attempt on my life, but someone may try to kill him if they believe that he knows much more than the little he has been able to tell us.  Have a few sentries linger about near his chamber, but not too conspicuously.  If he keeps quiet and no attention is drawn to him, he may be safe enough in a few days."

"Very well, my Lord.  No doubt you wish your father to be informed at once."

"He must be told, but it can wait until morning."

The guard looked skeptical, and Legolas patiently explained.

"The news would only deprive him of a good night's sleep.  I am safe for now; why should he be troubled unnecessarily?"

The guard looked a little uncertain.  Legolas, however, had adopted a commanding tone, and the guard obeyed.  The prince retrieved his blanket, and the guard then escorted him and Dûredhel's nephew to Tawarmaenas' chamber, whence two sentries were detailed to accompany the young interloper, who still looked confused, back to his own room.  "The poor lad needs an escort," Legolas thought to himself, "just to make sure that he doesn't get lost!"

In the morning, Legolas himself told Thranduil of what had transpired.  Fortunately, the King was so aghast that he was rendered speechless and therefore incapable of ranting.  Now it was Legolas himself who seized the opportunity to indulge in a little 'I told you so'.

"I hope you notice, Ada, that this attempt took place within the walls of the Great Hall itself.  Perhaps," he chaffed his father, "it would be well if I were to spend all my time outdoors wandering hither and thither so that my location would not be fixed nor my movements predictable."

Thranduil scowled but forbore answering.  Legolas continued, but in a more serious vein.

"I do not believe that this young Elf was privy to the details of the conspiracy—or that, indeed, he even knew that a conspiracy existed.  However, he may have unwittingly observed some facts that we may find useful—as, for example, the identities of Elves or others with whom Dûredhel has been consorting."

Thranduil at last spoke.

"Let him be summoned at once that he may be questioned," he thundered.

"Nay, Ada, do not summon him to either your presence chamber or this your private chamber, for it would be noted, and no attention should be drawn to him.  I will meet with him in some out-of-the-way place—with guards present," he added hastily as he saw his father open his mouth to object.

Reluctantly, Thranduil agreed, but later he had to concede that Legolas' plan was probably for the best.   Following different paths, the two young Elves came together in a chamber well removed from all eyes, and there Dûredhel's nephew, not overawed as he would have been in the presence of Thranduil or Gilglîr, spoke freely, anxious to make amends for having attacked his prince by providing as much aid as he could.  Together, he and Legolas drew up a list of all the Elves who were likely to have been taken into Dûredhel's confidence.  When Gilglîr returned from escorting the Imladris Elves to the border, this scroll was compared against a list of all the dead Elves.  They corresponded exactly.

"I think it likely," said Gilglîr later as he and Thranduil shared a glass of wine, "that all the elven conspirators are accounted for."

"Yes," agreed Thranduil, "for between the list provided by Dûredhel's nephew and the search that was made for any further rings, no evidence has been found that would indicate that anyone else was involved."

"One question remains unanswered, however," said Gilglîr.  "What caused Dûredhel to turn traitor?  Those rings came from the outside.  Who provided them?  The nephew knew nothing of Dûredhel's contacts with foreigners, having only observed his uncle in his dealings with Greenwood Elves."

"Dûredhel was not always so attentive to Tawarmaenas," mused Thranduil.  "Gilglîr, can you remember the point at which Dûredhel began his attempts to flatter my nephew?  Did anything noteworthy happen about that time?  Did any missives or messengers arrive?  Who or what could Dûredhel have had contact with that might account for his having turned traitor?"

Gilglîr thought long and hard.  Over the centuries Dûredhel, as one of the King's councilors, had dealt with many visitors to the court, both Man and Elf.  Only one stood out in Gilglîr's mind: an errand-rider from Rohan who had seemed to gravitate toward Dûredhel more and more each time he visited.  A sallow-faced, thin-lipped Man with stringy hair who had an oily, unctuous manner quite unlike the frank demeanor of the typical Rider of Rohan.  What had his name been?  Grim-something.  Yes, that was it.  Gríma.  On his last visit he had followed Dûredhel about like a fawning spaniel, and Dûredhel had not only tolerated his obsequiousness but seemed pleased by it.  It was at this time that Dûredhel himself adopted the selfsame manner in the presence of Tawarmaenas, hovering over the young Elf and plying him with exaggerated praise.  Tawarmaenas, however, Gilglîr thought with satisfaction, had not seemed impressed by Dûredhel's deference.  Indeed, the young Elf seemed uncomfortable at being the target of the sycophant.

"Gilglîr?"  Thranduil's voice interrupted the musings of the seneschal.

"Your pardon, Thranduil.  I wonder if evil crept into the court in the guise of Gríma, the errand-rider of Rohan."

"That would not surprise me," said Thranduil grimly.  "That one is so oily that I always take care to step around where ever he has stood, lest I slip upon a puddle of grease.  Dûredhel, however, always seemed glad of his visits.  But why would the Rohirrim wish us ill?"

"If it was Gríma who suborned Dûredhel," Gilglîr pointed out, "it is not certain that he did so in the employ of the Rohirrim.  Gríma himself could have been playing the traitor.  For, although we deal little with the Rohirrim, on those occasions when we have come together, there has been no strife between our peoples.  Indeed, our very distance from them would speak against their laying any plots against us.  We do not threaten their territory, being removed from it, and they would not wish to move into our land, for it is wooded and would hold no appeal for horse-masters who revel in the open plains.  I would sooner believe that Gríma was serving Sauron than the Rohirrim."

"I hope you are right, my friend, for I would be reluctant to think ill of the Rohirrim.  But whoever Grima's master may be, we must watch him carefully the next time he arrives bearing missives.  We must look for signs either of his innocence or guilt, and, in case he is the culprit, he must be kept from corrupting any other Elves.  Whenever he is in the Hall, he must be escorted by such Elves whose loyalty is unquestionable."

"Yes," Gilglîr agreed.  "In fact, I myself shall bear him company, loathsome as I find him to be."

"He will no doubt swell up with pride to find himself the recipient of the attentions of the Seneschal himself," observed Thranduil.  "Until," he added sardonically, "it dawns upon him that your constant attendance will frustrate any further attempts to try the loyalty of my subjects."

Gilglîr smiled grimly.

"I shall stick to him tighter than a leech," he promised.

As Thranduil had promised Legolas, upon Gilglîr's return the three of them had discussed the matter of Legolas' safety, and gradually most restrictions were lifted.  For the time being, however, Legolas continued to share a room with Tawarmaenas, for, even though Legolas was no longer to be confined for many hours each day in his chamber, he and his father had agreed that the renovations were to be completed.  One day as Legolas passed by his chamber, he saw that the door was ajar, and he decided to step in and see how the project was going.  His guard waited as he slipped into the room and looked about.  Legolas gaped in amazement.  Even unfinished, it was truly an amazing sight.  Had he heard birdsong, he would have been sure that he stood outdoors, for he smelled the forest and was everywhere surrounded by trees.

Although he heard no bird calls, he did hear an Elf whistling, and he peered behind a tree to find the woodcrafter, his back to him, carefully carving the tendril of a vine.  He was dressed in the ordinary fashion of a craftsman, his only unusual feature being his red hair, uncommon among Elves.  Legolas cleared his throat, and the woodcrafter turned around.  Now for the second time Legolas found himself gaping.

"Tathar!" he exclaimed.  "Tathar!"

Tathar peered hard at him.

"Laiqua?" he said uncertainly.

Legolas whooped and threw his arms around his childhood friend.  Tathar dropped his tools and reciprocated.  The guard, of course, hearing Legolas cry out, leaped into the chamber with his sword drawn.

"My Lord!" he exclaimed.  "Are you alright?"

Now it was Tathar's turn to gape.  He released his grip on Legolas and took a step backward.

"He called you 'My Lord'," he whispered.  "I am decorating the room of Prince Legolas.  Legolas.  Laiqua.  Oh, by the Valar!"

Tathar bowed his head and dropped to one knee.

"Your pardon, Prince Legolas," he stammered.  "I did not realize it was you.  I would never have presumed—"

"No, no, no!" exclaimed Legolas, seizing Tathar by the shoulders and drawing him to his feet.  "I am still Laiqua to Edwen Nana, and I want to be Laiqua to you as well."

"Edwen Nana?" said Tathar.  "I had heard that she was dwelling in the Great Hall.  Do you see her often?"

Legolas laughed.

"_Very_ often," he said.

"I should like to see her sometime," Tathar said wistfully.

"And so you shall," promised Legolas.  "This very evening, in fact.  That is, if your mother and father can spare you on such short notice."

"Oh," said Tathar eagerly, "they are in Lake-town for the next several weeks.  My father has received a commission from the merchants there to refurbish several houses.  I have been staying here, in the Hall.  In fact," he added, blushing, "each night I have simply been laying down my bed roll in this very chamber."

"As I shall do so tonight," declared Legolas.  "It will feel as if we are sleeping under the stars!"

In truth, there was very little sleeping done that night—or the next several nights—for the two Elves had a millennium of doings to catch up on.  As a result, Tathar was not able to work as quickly as his wont, and so the renovation dragged on several extra days.  Legolas, of course, had no objections to any delay that would result in Tathar staying in the Hall, and Thranduil, seeing how things stood, shrugged his shoulders and ordered that Tathar be paid for each day whether he labored long or no.  And when Legolas' room was completed, Gilglîr found many other tasks that needed doing in the Great Hall.  Eventually, Tathar's family was given an apartment in the Hall, and Tathar formally became a retainer of the King.

As for Edwen Nana, nothing had ever rendered her speechless, but the reappearance of Tathar in her life succeeded in doing so—for about five minutes.  After that brief pause, she erupted into such an effusion of joy that Thranduil himself was reduced to giggling at her antics.  Of course, no one, not even Legolas, knew that Edwen Nana had an especial reason for rejoicing at this reunion with her 'little Tathar'.  Only the Valar were privy to her secret.

And so it was that the dark times receded in the memories of Legolas and his circle, and—for a little while at least—life at the Hall became quite merry.


	24. Thrust And Parry

_Dragonfly: _Once again, thank you so much for serving as beta reader.

_SilentBanshee__, Joee, _and_ Dragonfly: _Glad you liked the Tathar reunion.  I'm planning to keep Tathar in the story from now on.  He will be one more character with whom Legolas can get into mischief, which will be especially helpful to the narrative when none of the younger Lórien or Rivendell Elves are present.

_Someguy__, Joee, _and_ Kelly Kragen: _O.K.  Here's the scoop.  Saruman was behind the plot.  Other than Sauron, he's the only one who could have devised the rings, thanks to several centuries of intense study of ring-lore.  As to Saruman's motive: First, he and Legolas have a history.  In previous stories, Saruman has been rejected and thwarted by Legolas, and Saruman has grown to hate him.  Second, Saruman wants control.  He knows he can't control Legolas, and he hopes he may have better luck with Tawarmaenas.

_Azure Dragoness: _As always, thank you for your kind words, which encourage me to keep writing.

**Chapter 24: Thrust and Parry**

Gandalf stood before Meduseld, the Golden Hall of the King of Rohan.  The wind whipped his beard as he gazed into the distance watching for the approach of his friends.  He had only been up and about for a day, and he was already restless.  Strange it was that, though the Valar had given him the form of a Man, it was not with Men that he took his ease most readily.  No, it was Elves and Hobbits that he was most drawn to.  Sadly, he knew that neither the Fair Folk nor the Little Folk were destined to inherit Middle Earth.  It was his task to help pave the way for the ascendancy of the race for which he had the least affinity.

No, he thought, that wasn't quite true.  He could not deny that he was drawn to the Dúnedain in the selfsame manner that he was attracted to the Elves and the Hobbits.  Indeed, for the Dúnedain he felt a respect similar to the one that he harbored for the Eldar themselves.  Of course, in the Dúnedain the blood of Westernesse ran true, and it could not be forgotten that Estel and his forefathers shared kinship with Elrond himself, descended as they were from Elros, Elrond's departed brother.

"Master Mithrandir," said a smooth voice, "you will catch your death of chill standing exposed here.  Pray, come inside and let me see to your comfort."

Gandalf grimaced at these words, but nevertheless turned and politely addressed the speaker.

"Thank you, Master Gríma, but wrapped as I am in this cloak, I am quite comfortable."

"If you will not come inside, Master Mithrandir, at least partake of this mulled wine.  Its warmth will do you good."

"Thank you for your trouble, Master Gríma," Gandalf said firmly, "but I am not thirsty."  Since Gríma's late-night visit to his chamber, he had been very careful to drink only from bottles whose seals had been broken in his presence.

"No trouble for me, Master Mithrandir, but the cook will be disappointed.  He took great care in preparing this and will be sorry if it comes back untouched."

"Then you must pour it out and say nothing to him."

"But if he asks how it was received?"

"Tell him it was much appreciated, for the ground is parched, as it has not rained in several weeks.  Any moisture would be welcome."

"You are of course correct, Master Mithrandir.  We have gone quite some time without rain.  In fact, I was just speaking with a group of Riders who were reckoning the number of days since rain has fallen.  They recollect that nary a cloud has been seen in Rohan since your arrival at the Golden Hall.  'You would think', said one, 'that the conjurer brought this drought with him'.  Rude and unlettered as they are, they are quite superstitious, I am afraid.  Pity, as I should not like to see them turn against you."

Gandalf glanced sharply at Gríma, who stared back at him impassively save for the glitter in his hooded eyes.

"Will you come in now, Master Mithrandir, away from this spot where you stand so prominently exposed to the wind and—other things?"

Gandalf considered.  Perhaps it would be best to play Gríma's game.  If he did not, Gríma would go to greater and greater lengths in order to ensnare him.  Seeming to acquiesce might in fact be a good way to fend him off.

"Very well, Master Gríma.  I will be ruled by you in this matter."

"Excellent," gloated Gríma.  "Just the sort of wise judgment one would expect from a wizard."

"Thank you," said Gandalf dryly, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice.  Gríma overlooked that, however, and slipped his arm through Gandalf's as if the wizard were a feeble old Man in need of support.   There were few who would have had the temerity to do so, Legolas among them, and Gandalf had to suppress the impulse to rap Gríma on the head with his newly repaired staff.

Gríma 'helped' Gandalf back to his chamber, and the wizard made a show of turning in for the night.  He even took a small sip from the goblet that Gríma still proffered, afterward instantly turning his face from the Man and drawing the blankets up over his head.

"Rest well, Master Mithrandir," said Gríma.

"Mmmph," came the muffled reply.

"If you should require anything, do not hesitate to request it of me."

"Mmmph mmph," answered Gandalf.

Receiving no other reply, Gríma departed.  As soon as he had left the room, Gandalf threw aside the covers and leaped from the bed.  Drawing the chamber pot out from under the bed, the wizard spat the mulled wine into it.  For good measure, he took into his mouth some water from the jug that stood in the dry sink, swished it about, and spat it out as well.  As this water was intended for bathing, he doubted it would have been tampered with.  Still, he was careful not to swallow any of it.

Having done that, Gandalf hastened to the door.  To his dismay, he found that the bolt had been removed.  He looked about the room, and his eye fell upon a chair. "Lucky the door swings inward," he thought to himself, "else I could not block it." He braced the chair against the door and then gave the handle a tug.  The door could not be budged.

It was now Gandalf's turn to gloat.

"Sorry for your trouble, Gríma," he chortled.  "Now you had best put your mind to coming up with a story to tell your master—Sauron, no doubt—to explain your repeated failures."

Gandalf returned to his bed, as usual placing his staff beside himself and wrapping one arm about it.  He fell at once into a peaceful rest.

Hours later he was roused by a slight noise.  He looked toward the door.  Someone was trying to force it.  The chair creaked as pressure built up in its legs, but it held, and after awhile the would-be intruder abandoned the attempt.

Gandalf yawned and stretched luxuriantly, reveling in the comfort of the feather bed, and then allowed himself to drift back to sleep.  Tomorrow, he said to himself as he dozed off, he was going to have a bit of a chat with King Fengel.

The next morning it was an anxious King Fengel whom Gandalf found sitting in the Great Hall.  The King was listening to the reports of Riders who had come in from the outlying Marches.  To a Man, they brought the same message.  The crops were like to fail for lack of rain, and the stock were beginning to suffer from the paucity and poor quality of the grass.  Moreover, if rain did not fall soon, it was likely that they would be unable to gather enough hay to sustain their herds over the winter, when the cold wind would sweep down from the north.

"If I may, my Lord," said Gríma, his words sounding smooth as they arose amongst the rough voices of the Riders, "if I may, my Lord, perhaps I could offer counsel on this matter."

Fengel gestured for him to continue.

"When last I carried a message to Isengard, I observed a great ingathering of grain and hay, an abundance superfluous to the needs of the dwellers in that place.  Saruman has ever been our friend.  If we applied to him for assistance, no doubt he would be generous."

The King shook his head.

"We have longstanding trade ties with Gondor.  I should not like to offend their Steward by turning elsewhere to purchase grain and hay."

"Ah, but my Lord, I have no doubt that Saruman would give us grain and fodder at no cost to ourselves, asking only for our friendship in return."

"You can't beat that price," laughed one of the Riders.

Fengel, however, flushed angrily.

"We are not beggars!  We can pay for whatever we require to sustain ourselves and our herds!"

"Of course, of course," Gríma soothed him.  "Saruman would have no wish to humiliate us by making it appear as if we were the recipients of his charity.  If you wish to exchange goods or coin for provisions, he will gladly enter into a bargain with you.  But be sure that his price will be fair, for unlike the Men of Gondor, he is no haggling merchant."

"This counsel seems wise," said an eager young Rider.  "Particularly as the Lord Saruman is a mighty wizard.  If we establish closer ties with him, mayhap he can be prevailed upon to counter the spell that has kept the wind blowing the wrong way."  As he said that, he looked hard at Gandalf, and the other Riders muttered angrily.

Fengel observed the glance and turned deliberately to Gandalf.

"What say you, my old friend?" he said loudly.

"Over the centuries you have experienced many such droughts, have you not?" said Gandalf.

"Aye, for weather is changeable.  And has ever been so," added the King, staring at the young Rider until the youth dropped his eyes.

"And in the past," Gandalf continued, "Gondor has always responded to your appeals for aid, is that not so?"

"Aye, and most generously."

"Is there not a saying amongst men that 'if it is not broken, do not mend it'?"

Fengel smiled.

"You have heard me say that, my old friend, and I have heard my father say it before me, and he his father."

"Your forefathers were wise," said Gandalf.

"I thank you, Mithrandir."

The King turned to address the assembled Riders.

"Mithrandir has said that my forefathers were wise."

"Oh, most assuredly," Gríma said hastily.  "If they had not been, Rohan would never have achieved the preeminence that it has so long enjoyed and which you in your wisdom maintain."

"And my wisdom it is that we will follow in the steps of my forefathers, who looked to our alliance with Gondor when evil or ill-fortune befell the kingdom.  Thengel," he continued, turning to his son, "I charge you to lead a company of Riders to Minas Tirith, there to arrange the purchase of such grain and fodder as will be needful for the coming months."

Thengel bowed respectfully and departed, followed by his band of picked Riders.  Fengel then dismissed all the other Rohirrim, not excepting Gríma.  Only Gandalf he asked to remain.

"You look much better than you did when first you came here," he said to the wizard.

"I am sure I could not have looked worse!" said Gandalf jokingly.

"True! True!  You were then very pale and emaciated.  You have got your color back and are now merely skinny rather than emaciated."

"I thank you for the compliment—I think," replied Gandalf wryly.

Fengel laughed but then sobered.

"Seriously, my friend, is all well with you?  Have you been provided with everything you need?  I would have you lack for nothing."

"I lack for nothing but a bolt upon my door."

"A bolt upon your door?"

"Aye, there was a bolt upon my door, but it has now vanished."

"And do you feel that you have need of such a bolt?"

"Your hospitality is unquestionable, Fengel, but there are those among your people who are not as welcoming as you."

"I fear that you are right, Mithrandir.  There are several who blame you for the drought.  Some say that you were fated to die and that we angered the gods by carrying you to Edoras when your dust should now be mingled with the earth.  They mutter that only when your blood has soaked into the soil will it rain anew.  Others say that you yourself have cast a spell upon the wind so that it drives away the clouds and that only your death will break that spell."

"Does this mean," deadpanned Gandalf, "that you wouldn't mind if I had a bolt?"

Fengel shook his head in mock despair and chuckled.  Then he called for a servant.

"Let Gríma be summoned," he ordered.  "Gríma," he said to Gandalf, "looks after this sort of thing."

"I wonder at your keeping Gríma in your employ, Fengel."

Fengel waved his hand dismissively.

"I know that Gríma has an unfortunate appearance and manner, but he has served me well, as his father did my father, and his grandfather my grandfather.  No doubt his son will serve Thengel well, and his son Theoden."

This conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the current Gríma.

"Gríma," said Fengel briskly, "Mithrandir's chamber had a bolt upon its door, but it has disappeared.  Know you aught of this?"

"Yes, my Lord.  I noticed that the bolt could not be shot easily, and I had it removed so that it might be filed smooth."

"Ah, I see.  And it will be replaced?"

"Shortly, my Lord."

"Shortly?  Ah, yes.  No doubt, as Mithrandir is a most honored guest, you have made certain that it will be replaced this very day."

"Indeed, you are correct, my Lord, as always.  The smith is filing it even as we speak."

"Excellent, Gríma, excellent."

"Is there anything else, my Lord?"

"No, Gríma.  That will be all."

Gríma bowed and hastened away.  No doubt, Gandalf thought to himself, it was only now that the retainer would hurry to the smith to order that the bolt be at once mended and replaced.  He did not, however, voice his suspicions to Fengel.

"It is enough," he said to himself, "that I have raised the matter with Fengel.  These things take time."

Indeed, Gandalf did not know how very true his words would turn out to be.  It would be many years before a King of Rohan would be persuaded to doubt the faith of a counselor named Gríma.


	25. Reaping The Whirlwind

_Dragonfly:_ Thanks for dropping everything order to beta this chapter.

_Rinny__ Leonhart:_ That is quite a compliment.  Thank you!

_Joee__: _Yes, I'm afraid that rational thinking has not been and is not now necessarily a hallmark of the human race.

_AzureDragoness__: _Yes, you are right about Gandalf and excitement.  For a good time, call 1-800-awizard!  (Hope that's not a real 1-800 number.  Hey, folks, don't dial that number.  I'm just joking around with AzureDragoness!)

_Kelly Kragen: _Who knows?  Now that you have an account, you might be tempted to write and post a story.  Go on.  Do it.  Can't hurt anything and might just be a lot of fun.  Look at me, for crying out loud!  I'm having a blast.  I _should_ be mowing the lawn, of course.

PARENTAL GUIDANCE: BECAUSE OF ELROHIR'S POTTY MOUTH (earlier chapter) AND THE TWISTED SENSE OF HUMOR OF BOTH ELROND AND GLORFINDEL (this chapter), THIS STORY IS RATED 'PG-13'.  YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

Chapter 25: Reaping the Whirlwind

A lilting melody floated across the plain of Rohan.  The Imladris Elves had stopped to rest, and Baramagor, Thoron's young cousin, was entertaining the company with his flute.  All Elves were drawn to music and were skilled at singing and playing, but even for an Elf Baramagor's skill was exceptional.  All within hearing were enthralled.

All save one, that is.  Standing apart from the others, Glorfindel looked thoughtfully at the sky.  It had not rained once since they had passed beyond the borders of Southern Mirkwood.  The sun had beat down mercilessly, its relentless rays never blocked by even the smallest wisp of cloud.  Moreover, a dry wind had blown ceaselessly, further drying the desiccated land.  Glorfindel heard the brittle grass crackling under elven feet, light as they were, and glanced over his shoulder as Elrond came up to stand beside him.

"The grass is very dry, Glorfindel.  It does not look as if it has rained here in weeks."

"True.  Nor does it look as if rain is in the offing.  North, south, east, and west, no sign of a cloud."

"We are close to a water course, are we not, Glorfindel?"

"Aye, but I fear lest it be dry.  There are but a few drops in my water bladder, and no doubt it is the same for the others."

"If a few drops remain in your water bladder, then you have more than is to be found in mine!"

"Permit me to venture a guess:  you gave your last mouthful of water to Estel."

"Yes, although he would not take it until I assured him that I possessed another bladder."

"A falsehood, Elrond?"

The balrog-slayer clucked his tongue in mock disapproval.

"Not altogether a lie, Glorfindel," Elrond retorted.  'Tis true I have another water bladder—I merely neglected to mention that it is in my chamber in Rivendell, is all."

Glorfindel chuckled.

"Someday you and Galadriel must have a contest to see who can be the most enigmatic."

Elrond smiled, but when he spoke, his words were somber.

"Let us pray that the water course has not run dry.  It has been two days since the horses were well watered.  Their plight is worse than ours, I fear."

"Yes," agreed Glorfindel.  "I will order that the horses be led for the time being, in order to spare them.  And I will see that the pack horses are unladed and their burdens divided amongst the warriors."

"Perhaps there are some items that could be dispensed with.  The camp kettles, for instance.  There is, after all, no water needs boiling!"

Glorfindel smiled and went off to give the command.  The baggage was soon removed from the pack horses, and Elves busily sorted through the goods, tossing aside anything that could be spared: pots and pans, the camp kettles, cooking utensils, tent cloths and ground cloths, tent poles and stakes.  The remaining goods the Elves added to their own packs.  Shouldering their new burdens, the Elves marched off, heading south and east toward Edoras, their grateful horses trailing alongside them.

Elladan and Elrohir brought up the rear of the company, constantly scanning for danger from the rear.  At length Elladan stopped walking and stood staring steadily behind them.  Elrohir returned to his side.

"Elladan, what do you see?"

"Orcs," his brother replied quietly.

"How many?"

"Not many.  No more than a handful."

Elrohir relaxed.

"No threat to us, then."

"Perhaps not.  Of course, they may summon more of their kind."

"There can be no large bands of Orcs sheltering anywhere near us.  They would have to travel leagues to reach their fellows, and then those reinforcements would have to travel leagues again to pick up our trail.  By then we would be safe within the walls of Edoras."

"I think, brother," said Elladan soberly, "that you underestimate these Orcs.  Look!"

Elladan gestured toward what appeared to be a puff of dust arising from the parched earth.

"Dust?" said Elrohir, puzzled.  "Dust is a nuisance but no threat."

"That is not dust."

Elrohir peered hard at the horizon and then gasped.

"Fire!  They have set fire to the plain!"

"Aye, and the wind blows this way."

Elladan and Elrohir abandoned their place at the rear of the column and ran up to its head, where Glorfindel and Elrond walked together.

"Ada," shouted Elladan, "there are Orcs behind us, and they have set fire to the plain!"

Elrond and Glorfindel looked behind them.  Fed by the dried grass, the flames were already spreading wide and leaping high.  Quickly Glorfindel knelt down and drew flint and steel from the pouch at his waste.  It was easy to kindle the desiccated blades of grass, and soon many Elves ran along a line at a right angle to the band, each holding a flaming tuft with which to set a fire that would move onward, away from them.  Hastily they drove the horses into the resulting burned patch, and together they huddled there, watching as the Orcs' blaze roared toward them.  The horses, elven though they were, became agitated, and the Elves laid their hands on their muzzles, speaking soothingly to them.  The wildfire was a fearsome sight as it raced toward them.  As it neared, its flames showered them with ashes and sparks, and its heat scorched them.  Still, when the fire reached them, its flames parted and the fire passed to either side.  Unharmed in the main, the Elves turned and watched as the firestorm raced on until it disappeared in the distance.  This was no time to rejoice, however.

"Now," said Glorfindel unhappily, "there is not even dried grass for the horses to eat."

"If the water course has not run dry," Elrond pointed out, "all is not lost.  With no burdens and adequate water, the horses should be able to carry on for a few days yet."

"Aye," said Glorfindel.  "If the water course has not run dry."  He did not, however, sound hopeful.

Grimly the company trudged on.  At last they saw a few scraggly trees upon the horizon, and they made for that spot.  As they reached the trees, however, they saw that their leaves were brown and their branches drooped.  No sound of water greeted them, only the mournful rattling of dead leaves in the moaning wind.  The soil of the dried-out riverbed was hard and had cracked into shards like those of a shattered mirror.

"We should dig in the riverbed," said Erestor.  "Often water can be found beneath the surface of even the driest river."

Several Elves found flat stones and began to dig.  After scratching out a considerable hole, however, they had encountered nothing more than a little damp soil at the very bottom.  They abandoned the effort, and all save Glorfindel and Elrond gathered under the skimpy shade of the dead trees.  Those two Elves went aside and considered what to do.

"Our horses cannot bear us to safety," Elrond observed, "but they may be able to scent out water and, unburdened by us or our baggage, perhaps they will be able to reach it and so survive.  We should set them loose."

"Aye," agreed Glorfindel, "and mayhap we should follow their lead, trailing after them."

Elrond shook his head.

"No, the horses will travel far and fast to reach water.  The water that may succor them all too likely will be well out of our range.  We must continue to head toward Edoras and hope that Riders encounter us.  Even during a drought such as this, the Rohirrim would not dare to forgo all scouting missions.  The Orcs that we have encountered prove that."

"True," agreed Glorfindel.  "Very well.  I will give the order."

The horses were reluctant to abandon their comrades, but after considerable urging the herd set off, each horse looking back longingly at his rider until at last the herd reached the horizon and vanished from view.

The Elves had stood watching as their friends had slowly ambled off, but now they set about preparing to move out.  Glorfindel ordered that they repack their bags and cast aside all that was not absolutely necessary for survival: their cloaks, spare garments, even the small personal items such as combs and the brooches with which they fastened their garments.  Baramagor cast aside his flute.  When they had finished, they carried little other than the remaining provisions—a small item, that, consisting mainly of lembas wafers—and their water bladders.  Empty though these were for the most part, the Elves held on to them against the day when they might be refilled.  Having disburdened themselves of any extra weight, the Elves shouldered their baggage, slight as it was, and set off yet again.

Under a scorching sun they marched on and on, growing thirstier by the hour—nay, by the minute!  In Elrond's pack were a packet of dried athelas leaves and a small vial of miruvor.  At length, seeing how drained the members of the company were becoming, he broke the athelas leaves into tiny fragments.  On each bit of leaf he poured a drop of miruvor, and then he gave one to each Elf save himself and Glorfindel, instructing the Elves to suck upon them.  To Estel he gave the last and largest piece, although of course he did not tell the boy so.  As for Erestor, he accepted his fragment, but he set it aside and gave it to Estel later, telling the boy that he detested the cordial and liked the leaf even less.

Estel, of course, had need of such consideration.  Not only was he the youngest of the company by several centuries, he also had only a spot of elven blood, and therefore, although he had more stamina than most humans, he still did not have as much as his foster-brothers did.  At length, even given the extra miruvor and athelas, the young human began to stagger.   Perceiving this, Elladan and Elrohir came to stand on either side of him and bantered with him to keep up his spirits.  Eventually, however, it was apparent to them that he would not be able to go on much further.       

"Estel," said Elrohir, "do you remember how I used to give you pick-a-back rides?"

"Aye, but that was a very, very long time ago, and I was much littler than I am now."

"Hah," snorted Elrohir.  "Not so long ago, and you are not _that_ much bigger!"

"Oh, yes, I am!" retorted Estel.

"I believe," replied Elrohir challengingly, "that I could give you a pick-a-back ride even now!"

"You couldn't!"

"I could!"

"You couldn't!"

"Very well.  I shall prove it to you!"

"You shan't be able to take a dozen steps before you collapse under my weight!"

"Oh ho!  Did you hear that, Elladan?  This little human declares I cannot bear his tiny frame upon my back.  Estel, you had better prove that charge, or the penalty you face shall be grave!"

Elrohir stooped, and Estel clambered upon his back, flinging his arms around the Elf's neck.  Elrohir slipped an arm underneath each one of the lad's knees and straightened up, groaning for effect.  He pretended to stagger a few steps but then broke into a jog.  Estel giggled and let his head rest upon one of Elrohir's shoulders.  The Elf had scarcely gone thrice twelve paces before the boy was sound asleep.  Elrohir slowed to a walk, from time to time shifting his grip to ease the ache in his shoulders.  Elladan paced beside him.

"Brother," he said after a time, "Estel sleeps so soundly that I think he could be set upon my back without disturbing him."

Elrohir looked gratefully at Elladan.  This was no time to indulge in false pride or sibling rivalry, and he accepted his brother's offer.  So they traveled on for the rest of the morning, shifting Estel back and forth between them.  Watching them, Elrond thought that he had never loved them more than at that moment.

Estel was not the only one whose strength had begun to fail.  Erestor was still feeling the effects of the blow to the head that he had received whilst protecting Estel during the skirmish in Greenwood.  He had also, of course, forgone the miruvor and the athelas, although no one knew that but Estel.  A patient sufferer, Erestor had said nothing, but it had not escaped Glorfindel's eye that his friend grew paler and paler and walked more and more slowly.  He also noticed that it had been long since Erestor had raised his water bladder to his lips, and he knew that this likely meant that the bladder was empty.  Glorfindel fell into step beside his friend and walked alongside him for a while, pretending from time to time to sip from his own water bladder.  At last he casually offered the bag to Erestor.  Hefting the bag, the injured Elf hesitated to drink from it.

"This bladder feels very light, Glorfindel.  It contains little water.  I would not have you go without water for my sake."

Glorfindel decided to steal a page from Elrond's book.

"I have another water bladder," he said glibly, neglecting, as Elrond had, to mention that said bladder was hanging on a hook in his chamber.

"But is it full?"

"Not full, but you needn't worry," said Glorfindel reassuringly.  "Drink up!  In fact, why don't you just finish this bladder off for me?"

"If you are sure, Glorfindel."

"Quite sure," replied the balrog-slayer.

Erestor upended the bladder and slowly drained it, savoring each drop.  Sighing with gratitude, he handed the empty bladder back to Glorfindel, who accepted it smilingly before taking his leave of his friend to check on other members of the company.

Up and down the column Glorfindel went, encouraging the marchers, who for their part steadfastly tried to put on a show of courage and strength.  But not even the soot upon their faces could disguise the fact that their expressions grew more and more drawn from the heat and exhaustion and thirst.  At last the inevitable happened: one of the younger Elves pitched forward face down upon the baked earth.

Glorfindel and Elrond hastened to his side and turned him over.  It was Baramagor. 

The remaining Elves clustered around.  Elladan and Elrohir gently placed Estel upon the ground and anxiously joined the others.  Some removed their tunics and held them so as to provide shade to the stricken Elf.  Those who still had a few drops of water proffered their water bladders.  Glorfindel lifted Baramagor into a sitting position, and Elrond carefully dribbled water into his mouth, stroking his throat to trigger his swallowing reflex.  Gradually Baramagor revived, to the relief of everyone.

Of course, there was now no water left at all.  Glorfindel drew Elrond aside.  "Elrond," he said somberly, "we all of us face death.  It is not a light matter to meddle with the substance of the cosmos, but the alternative is to watch each and every one of our comrades die slowly of hunger and thirst and exhaustion."

"You are right, my friend," said Elrond, gazing at his hand, wherein lay Vilya, the Ring of Air.  "Only rarely have I used the power vested in this ring, but on this occasion I believe I would be quite justified in doing so."  Elrond put his bow upon the scorched earth and unstrapped his quiver, placing that down likewise.  He unbuckled his sword belt and lay belt and scabbard beside bow and quiver.  Next he drew his knife from its sheath and set that upon the shriveled grass as well.  Now armed only with the Ring and his own courage and determination, he set off alone, walking until he could no longer be seen by even a keen-sighted Elf.

What words he uttered or ceremonies he performed, he told no one, unless he later shared the secret with the other Ring-bearers.  But after a time, Erestor, who lay huddled next to a still-sleeping Estel, sat up abruptly.

"The wind is changing," he said.

Glorfindel arose to his feet.

"Yes," he said, "it has reversed direction."

"And it grows stronger," said a weary Elrohir.  He shivered, and Elladan threw his arms around him, drawing his brother close.

Harder and harder and colder and colder the wind blew, and the Elves huddled together, placing Estel, who was now awake, in the center.  Squeezing their eyes shut against the dust that was whipped from the surface of the scarred earth, they pulled up the fronts of their tunics to cover their mouths and noses.  From time to time, Glorfindel would briefly open his eyes to peer about.  At last he saw something far off on the horizon.  Tugging on Erestor's sleeve to attract his attention, he shouted above the roar of the wind, "Clouds!  Clouds!"

Peering through gritty eyelids, Erestor saw them too and felt both hope and fear.  For darker and darker grew the sky as the clouds rushed onward.  Down from the clouds leaped lightning, and the growl of thunder mingled with the howling of the wind.  The sky was yellow and green and black, and whirlwinds whipped about beneath the clouds.  Rain was coming, Erestor knew, but such a rain as might wash them from the face of the earth.  He looked about.

"Glorfindel," he shouted above the clamor of the storm.  "Yonder the earth dips slightly.  'Tis but a slight depression, but we should make for it nonetheless!"

Glorfindel nodded his agreement, and the Elves began to crawl toward that spot upon their hands and knees, for it was no longer possible to stand.  Reaching the depression, they threw themselves down, each Elf clinging to his neighbor.  The whirlwinds drew nearer.  Glorfindel found himself shouting but knew not what he said.  Erestor muttered nonsense into the ear of Estel, who was comforted not by the words, which he could not have made out anyway, but by the soft rumble of the familiar voice.  Elrohir and Elladan held tight to one another, exchanging no words at all.  The rain pelted them, the wind clawed at them, the hail beat upon them.  One whirlwind broke away from the others and headed straight toward them.  "It sounded," Erestor said later, "it sounded like the roar of a dragon."  To Glorfindel, it resembled nothing so much as the threatening bellow of a balrog.

The claws of the whirlwind reached into the group of huddled bodies and laid hold of the smallest among them, trying to drag him away.  "Estel!" screamed Erestor, gripping the boy hard around the waist and striving to wrest him from the grasp of the weather demon.  Slick with mud, the boy slipped through Erestor's hands until at last the Elf was clinging only to Estel's ankles.  The demon then tried to take the Elf as well.  A horrified Glorfindel lunged toward them and seized hold of Erestor's legs as he, still holding tight to Estel, began to fly into the air after the boy.  "You shall not have them," Glorfindel screamed.  "You shall not have them!"  A vicious tug of war ensued, until at last Glorfindel yanked Erestor and Estel free from the fingers of the wind demon, who, disappointed, veered away and rejoined his companions.  The tumult of the wind quieted.  The rain began to lessen.  The last hailstone fell upon them.  The storm had moved on.  Stunned, they looked about them.  The depression in which they huddled was fast becoming a lake as the water pouring off the plain began to collect there.  Glorfindel arose on shaky legs.

"We must make for higher ground," he shouted, his voice raw.  Dazedly, the other Elves staggered to their feet.  Urged on by Glorfindel's hoarse commands, they sloshed through the water until they reached dry ground—relatively dry ground, that is, for the earth had turned to mud and everywhere about them rivulets ran.

Clinging one to another, Elladan, Elrohir, and Estel stared about blankly.  Where was their father?  Why had he not returned?

"Elrond," said Erestor softly, his voice breaking.  "Where is Elrond?"

Glorfindel looked at him bleakly.  They had scarce survived the storm.  How had Elrond fared, alone in the midst of such a tempest?

"I will go and look for him," Glorfindel said.

"And we will go with you," declared Elladan and Elrohir in unison.

Glorfindel shook his head.

"No.  I am stronger than either of you, for I have born no burden upon my back.  I will be able to move further and faster than you could.  Remain here.  You must look after Estel, and you must take command of the company in the absence of both Elrond and myself.  Only you are both fit and qualified to do so.  This is what your father would expect of you," he added quickly as Elrohir opened his mouth to reply.

"Very well," Elrohir agreed unhappily, speaking for both himself and Elladan.

Glorfindel slogged off through the mud in the direction Elrond had taken.  On and on he walked.  Each step he took he sank into muck, and as he pulled each foot free, it came away with a soft 'plop'.  Everywhere the balrog-slayer saw nothing but mud and flattened grass.  He swiveled his head back and forth, desperately looking for a breach in the brown sameness.

At last he spotted a large lump, brown like everything else, but a least a break in the monotony of the terrain.  He hastened toward it.  It was Elrond.

The Lord of Imladris lay in the middle of a pile of heaped-up hailstones.  He was curled into a ball like a centipede, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms flung protectively over his head.  He was breathing but rather raspily, as if it took great effort for him to draw each breath.  Glorfindel was both relieved and frightened.  He knelt beside his friend and gently laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"Ooooh," moaned the muddy figure, "don't touch me there.  Bruise."

"I'm sorry," apologized the balrog-slayer, moving his hand to another spot.

"Bruise there, too."

Glorfindel lifted his hand and hesitated.

"Any spot not bruised, Elrond?"

"I am not certain, but possibly the little toe on my left foot."

Glorfindel chuckled softly.  At least the wind had not blown away Elrond's wit.  He adopted the bantering tone he so often indulged in with his friend.

"Elrond, I know we wanted rain, but did you have to go to such extremes?  The wind well nigh whipped the tunics from our backs and all but tore the boots from our feet!  I warn you: you had better be prepared for a rather large clothing bill, for there is not one of your warriors who could appear with decency in mixed company."

"Well," gasped the exhausted and battered Elrond, "you wanted a change in the weather, and I obliged you.  Surely you have no ground for complaint."

"We are lucky to have any ground at all," retorted Glorfindel, "as it was nearly washed out from under us."  Then the balrog-slayer grinned.

"Elrond," he said, "do you remember when we were elflings and gave one another pick-a-back rides?"

Elrond simultaneously laughed and hissed with pain.

"Aye, but that was a very, very, very long time ago."

"True, but I will not be outdone by Elrohir.  Up upon my back you go!"

Glorfindel squatted down to make it easier for Elrond, who slowly and laboriously crawled upon his friend's back.  Groaning even more melodramatically than Elrohir had, Glorfindel arose and began to pace doggedly back in the direction whence he came.  Elrond, so worn and weather-beaten he was, fell asleep as assuredly as Estel had.  This was fortunate, as eventually Glorfindel began to stagger, and he would not have wanted Elrond to be troubled at the thought that his friend struggled under his weight.

Whilst Glorfindel had been searching for his friend, Elrohir and Elladan had been doing their best to ease the hurts of the other members of the company.  All were more or less bruised by hail, some so that they could hardly draw breath without wincing.  All were soaked and cold.  Of course, they could light no fires.  There was no wood thereabouts, and even if there had been, it would have been too wet to kindle.

Fortunately, however, once the storm had passed, the sky had cleared and the sun shone down, warming the rain-soaked soil.  The Elves who were less injured helped the more badly bruised to strip off their tattered clothes.  Wet garments were spread out to dry, and those Elves who could do so moved about to lessen the stiffness of their limbs.  At least, mused Elrohir, looking about at the bedraggled company, there was water enough to satisfy even the thirstiest of its members.  Estel, in spite of his encounter with the wind demon, was one of the least bruised, and his foster-brothers had set him to filling each and every water bladder.   Happily he crouched at the edge of the newly-formed lake, submerging bladder after bladder into its sparkling waters, carrying back one after another to its owner.  Elves drank until satisfied and then used the remaining water to clean the mud from their bodies.  Estel cheerfully collected the newly emptied bladders and filled them repeatedly as long as there was a need.

The lack of food was the most difficult problem to solve.  Before the storm, a few wafers of lembas had remained, but now, having been soaked, these had dissolved into a glutinous paste that would not keep.  Elladan doled out a handful of the glop to Estel and each Elf save Erestor, Elrohir, and himself, and then they had nothing upon which to subsist for the remainder of the trek to Edoras.

"I will take some scouts and comb the ground for birds' nests," said Elladan, "for eggs can be swallowed raw.  Mayhap a few have survived the storm unbroken."

"Good," said Elrohir.  "I will take a few other scouts and search for game.  Whatever we bring down we can slice into strips to be dried in the sun."

Elladan grimaced.

"I am not fond of jerked meat."

"And I am not fond of raw eggs—but I am even less fond of starving!"

Both Elladan and Elrohir threw themselves wholeheartedly into the search for food.  It was necessary for their survival.  Mercifully, it also distracted them from thinking about their father.  It would have relieved them to know that Glorfindel had found him and was making steady progress back toward their camp.  They were not to hear any news of their father until the morrow, however, for even a balrog-slayer has his limits.  Increasingly weary, he at last stumbled and fell upon his face.  Groaning, Elrond rolled off him and opened his eyes, looking about in bewilderment.

"Has my horse thrown me?" he muttered confusedly.

"Horse, no; beast of burden, yes," said Glorfindel.  "I hope you are not bruised anew."

"There are no spots left to be bruised," replied Elrond, his awareness of his surroundings returning to him.

"Except for the little toe on your left foot," Glorfindel reminded him.

"Actually, now I think on it, that may be bruised as well."

"Ah, so you were minimizing your injuries back there," teased Glorfindel.  "That is so like you.  Well, now that you have admitted the extent of your hurts, you must lie here and rest whilst I refill this water bladder and search for something for us to eat.  I will not have to go far for water, but food is another matter."

Soon Glorfindel was back with a full water bladder and a handful of snails.

Elrond raised both of his famous eyebrows.

"Snails, Glorfindel?"

"In one of Erestor's books of lore, it is written that certain tribes of Men believe snails to be a great delicacy.  Here are several stones.  We shall crack these snails open and try to ascertain their appeal."

Nothing was heard for awhile but the sound of stone striking stone as the Elves broke open the snails between them and fished out the morsels within.

"Well, what did you think?" asked Glorfindel after they had devoured the snails.

"Tastes like chicken," joked Elrond weakly.  Just then a grasshopper leaped onto Glorfindel's knee.  The balrog-slayer eyed it speculatively.

"No!" exclaimed Elrond, alarmed.

"I understand," mused Glorfindel, ignoring him, "that grasshoppers are not bad once you get past the legs.  Perhaps I should hunt some up.  You need to keep up your strength, Elrond."

"The water and the snails have quite revived me," Elrond assured him hastily.  "I am not the least bit hungry."

"Very well.  If you are sure."

"I am!"

"Let us turn in, then.  We had best remove these damp clothes, for they will draw the warmth from our bodies as we sleep.

The two Elves stripped and huddled together.  Glorfindel rubbed Elrond's arms and shoulders.

"This reminds me," he reminisced, "of the time when Legolas and I rafted down the Bruinen and he was forced into its icy waters.  Afterward I held him and chafed his arms and shoulders to bring some warmth to him."

"If that story were widely known," Elrond teased him, "you would be the envy of all the maidens in Imladris.  Aye, and of a fair number of the males as well.  When Legolas was in charge of training the novice archers, he used to complain of the number of them who had crushes upon him and who, doe-eyed, neglected their shooting to follow him about everywhere, sighing and dreaming."

"Ah, yes," mused Glorfindel, "novices and their crushes, something with which I am all too familiar."

"Yes," said Elrond, "I have often wondered how you managed to fend them off for all those centuries."

"Who says I fended them off," replied the balrog-slayer loftily.

"Glorfindel!"

"Do not fear, Elrond," laughed Glorfindel.  "I would never abuse a position of authority."

"In that case," retorted Elrond, "I shall make sure to always place you in charge of the young Elves!"

"Fair enough, Elrond," chortled Glorfindel.  "But they don't stay novices forever!"

Elrond punched him lightly in the stomach, and they both subsided into an exhausted sleep.

Hours later, Elrond felt something nuzzling his neck.

"Glorfindel," he muttered sleepily, "you needn't hold me quite that close.   I'm no longer especially chilly."

He felt a huff of warm breath, and something soft and moist brushed his lips.

"Glorfindel," he repeated, a little louder.  "You'd better not be sleeping and mistaking me for someone in one of your highly imaginative dreams!"

"I am quite wide awake," came the reply.  "Open your eyes and look about."

Elrond opened his eyes and found himself staring at the muzzle of his horse.  The horse nickered, its warm, moist breast whooshing over Elrond's face.  Elrond blinked, wondering if he himself still slept.  Then he raised his hand and caressed his horse's soft, velvety nose.  The steed was real enough.

"He came back during the night," said Glorfindel, "as did all his fellows."

Elrond sat up and looked about.  They were surrounded by horses.

"They did indeed make their way to safety," said Glorfindel, "but once the drought broke, they promptly returned for us."

"The drought has broken," said Elrond worriedly, "and there is water enough, but what are they to live on?"

"Look upon the earth, Elrond!"

As Elrond gazed about, he saw the tiny blades of grass that had begun to push up from the replenished soil.

"There will be several lean days yet," said Glorfindel, "but the horses won't starve.  Come, we will make good time now."

Glorfindel helped Elrond mount his horse—the Lord of Imladris would remain sore for many days more—and then he mounted his own steed.  In fact, they did not travel much more quickly than they had the day before, for Glorfindel was anxious that the horses conserve their strength until such time as there would be more fresh grass for them to graze upon.  Still, both Glorfindel and Elrond were vastly more comfortable, and they were soon laughing and singing as if they had not come near to dying of hunger and thirst and exposure.

"Look," shouted Estel.  He was a little apart from the others, for he had been given the task of driving off birds or animals that might try to snatch any of the meat that lay drying in the sun.  "Riders must be near, for yonder is a herd of horses!"

Elladan and Elrohir came to stand by his side.

"Yes," said Elladan, "those are horses, but I see only two riders, and I am not sure whether they be Rohirrim or not."  He squinted a little, trying to make out the strangers, and suddenly gave a whoop, abandoning both Elrohir and Estel and racing across the plain toward the herd.

"What?" began Elrohir, but suddenly he also recognized the riders and raced after his brother.

Estel could not yet tell who approached, but, taking his cue from his foster-brothers, he ran off as well.

Erestor, of course, divined who must be approaching.

"Elrond will be so happy," he said dryly, "to see his sons running naked across the plain."  For everyone's garments were still so wet that no one, save Erestor, had bothered to dress.  Elrond, however, himself had hardly a shred of dignity left, so he was inclined to overlook his sons' lack of covering.  They swarmed about his horse, whooping and hollering, with Elrond fondly cuffing each head that came within his reach.

"Ada," cried Estel, "there has been _such_ a storm!  None like it has ever been seen, I am sure."

"You may very well be right," agreed Elrond.  "For certainly it was no ordinary deluge."

Later that night, Elrond told Glorfindel and Erestor what he knew about the tempest. 

"I have used the Ring before, but never did it require such an effort to channel its power.  I am certain that some other will must have set its thoughts against mine.  I strove against this will, trying to wrest control of the Air from it, and it fought back.  I was wracked with pain, as if I were being pierced by thunder bolts and battered by hailstones, but I put more and more of myself into the struggle, until at last my opponent gave way.  Of course, by the time my foe yielded its dominion over the Air, I had very little strength left with which to control it myself.  Its power was well nigh unleashed fully, and I could do little more than pray that the rain would fall where it was needed.  That at least was accomplished, although I am sorry it had to be accompanied by such violence."

"The will that set itself against yours," said Glorfindel, "most assuredly must have been that of Sauron."

"That is possible," said Elrond slowly.

"Possible!" exclaimed Glorfindel.  "Aye, and plausible and probable!  Who else could it have been?"

"There are other forces that can control the weather," said Elrond thoughtfully.  "But," he added briskly, shaking off a mood of foreboding that suddenly came upon him, "speculation is fruitless.  Tomorrow we will rest here, and then the day after, with full bellies and equally full bladders we shall resume our trek to Edoras."

"Let us hope that its walls are still standing," said Erestor.

"Oh, they will be," Glorfindel assured him.  "After all, they had Mithrandir there to fend off the storm."

Glorfindel little knew how true his words were.  Of course, the 'storm' Mithrandir had been fending off was not the same as the one Glorfindel had been imagining—and in some ways it was the deadlier of the two.


	26. Concentric Circles

**_Failure By Design: _Thank you. I am glad you like quirky humor, as it is probably the only kind I am capable of writing!**

**_Andi_****_-Black: _As requested, one update. **

**_Grumpy: _As Gandalf would say, even when your intentions are good it is perilous to use a Ring of Power.**

**_AzureDragoness_****_: _Yes, I admit it: I love foreshadowing.**

**_Kelly Kragen: _Your guess regarding Gríma is right on target.**

**_Dragonfly: _Both motives work without contradicting one another: Saruman wants to create trouble both for Gandalf and for the Elves riding to meet him. You could add a third one as well: making the Rohirrim dependent upon him by depriving them of their crops and herds.**

**_Joee_****_: _Ai! This chapter does not contain Legolas, but the next one will. He is journeying to Erebor in the company of Tathar. Also, just a few minutes ago I posted an elfling Anomen story under the title "Scout's Honor." There now, will that do?**

Chapter 26: Concentric Circles

In Lothlórien, a bewildered Haldir clung to his talan as it dipped and swayed in the wind that roared through the Golden Valley. Never had such a tempest struck the land of the Galadhrim, no, not in his lifetime, nor in the lifetimes of those older than he. On another flet, a shaken Celeborn lurched toward Galadriel, who had pressed herself against the trunk of the mallorn tree that rose through the center of the dwelling, which itself stood in the midst of Caras Galadhon. "Galadriel," he shouted as he reached her, "we must abandon this tree."

The Lady of Lothlórien shook her head.

"No, Celeborn," she called in answer, "if this tree falls, then Caras Galadhon falls, and then you know what must follow. Let us remain steadfast." She raised aloft Nenya, the Ring of Adamant, and chanted words that Celeborn could not hear above the wind.

Yes, thought Celeborn, he did indeed know what would follow if the center did not hold. If Caras Galadhon fell, then Lothlórien would fall, and if Lórien fell, no Elf kingdom would be far behind. The destruction of Caras Galadhon would be like the stone cast into a pond, sending out ripples in concentric circles. For their city was the heart of elvendom in Middle Earth. Let the heart once stop beating, and there would be no life left elsewhere.

In Northern Mirkwood, wood elves abandoned their cottages and hastened to the safety of the Great Hall, dolven as it was into the good earth. Trees crashed about them as they fled. So many forest giants were found windfallen the next day that it would be long before Tathar and the other carpenters would need to cut any live ones. The trees had toppled in great swathes, so that, as the trunks were dragged off by the carpenters, large open spaces were left behind to which elflings flocked to fly their kites. As Men were wont to say, "It is an ill wind as blows _nobody_ any good." The elflings at least had cause to rejoice.

In Isengard, Saruman snarled in frustration, foam flying from his lips, as he prowled the summit of Orthanc, casting his eyes wildly from side to side as the grounds of his fortress were swamped by the overflowing Isen. Saruman vowed to never again fall victim to the power of the river, resolving instead to order his creatures to erect a dam across it. "Yes," he thought, "a dam will do nicely. Such a structure will allow me to control the river and protect myself from its moods; moreover, I can then make use of the river's thwarted power to turn the wheels of various engines that I have long wished to devise. Yes," he gloated, "I shall turn this river to account, taming its wildness and shaping it into one of my servants." It would be many years before this plan would come to fruition, but the seeds were planted this night.

In Edoras, terrified families huddled together as the thatched roofs were torn from their houses. Terrified children shrieked as mothers and fathers flung themselves upon them to protect the young ones from the rain and hail that poured into the breached cottages. Panicked horses reared and plunged and kicked against their stalls as the wind peeled planks from the sides of the stables. A whey-faced Gríma hid underneath his bed as the Men of Fengel's household ran outside to make their way to the stables, there to help the stableboys calm the steeds, lest they hurt themselves in their panic. As for Gandalf, he forced his way from cottage to cottage, bent against the wind, urging the frightened folk to abandon their flimsy shelters for the security of Fengel's great Golden Hall. Many were the children that he carried beneath his own cloak, thus speeding the passage of the refugees by relieving them of the need to make repeated trips between cottage and Hall.

When the tempest stilled, Gandalf and Fengel were the first to walk the ramparts to survey the damage. Walls had collapsed, their foundations washed away by the torrents of water that had poured down the slopes. Such hay as had been gathered during the time of drought had been spoilt, the haystacks having collapsed and the fodder having become soaked and befouled by mud. Such stock as had not been in the barns was badly bruised and very likely would have to be put down. There would be meat enough that winter, but fewer calves would be born in the spring; there would consequently be less milk for butter and cheese, as well as less meat the following winter because fewer animals would be available for butchering.

As Fengel and Gandalf took stock of the situation, a few Men gathered to watch them, Gríma among them. "Interesting," muttered that personage as if he were speaking to himself and did not intend to be overheard.

"What's that you say?" asked one of the Men.

"Oh, nothing," Gríma said. "Just—that," he added, gesturing vaguely toward king and wizard. The other Men studied the two with renewed interest.

"Don't like that," said one at last.

"Don't like what?" asked another.

"That conjurer looks to be spying out our fortifications and making note of our weaknesses," replied his fellow.

"And like as not some of those weaknesses are of his own devising," added another Man, the young Rider who had earlier cast aspersions upon Gandalf in the presence of Fengel himself. "There has been naught but odd doings and peculiar happenings since his arrival here. First, the drought, a longer and harsher one than anyone can remember, and now this storm, the like of which no one has ever seen. Only magic could explain these misfortunes, and the only magician hereabouts is yonder wizard."

"And now," another Rider pointed out, "that same wizard is privy to information about the state of our defenses, which at the moment are rather poor, all things being considered. This is altogether too bad!"

"But what are we to do?" cried the young Rider in frustration. "The King trusts the old conjurer!"

"He is loyal to the magician," said Gríma slyly, "for he has known him of old. Doubtless loyalty is an excellent trait—in the main."

"True," said an agéd Rider, "and it is thus out of the question for Fengel to act against the wretched wizard. We cannot ask that of him, to turn upon someone whom he has treated as a friend for so many years. It is up to us to take action, thus freeing Fengel from any imputation of treachery."

"Yes," exclaimed the young Rider excitedly. "The King's nobility of character prevents him from acting, so we must step into the breach."

"Aye," said the older Rider, "and we must tell Fengel nothing, so that the act will not lie upon his conscience or stain his honor."

Gríma had by now slipped away, for the plot had developed an impetus of its own. Indeed, since he was considered to be the King's loyal henchman, his continued presence perchance would have inhibited the discussion. Moreover, Gríma was always mindful of his own welfare. If the plot went awry, he did not want to be associated with it. And, truly, up to that point he had been careful to avoid saying anything that could be called wicked or traitorous. In fact, so clever was he that he had scarcely had to say anything at all.

Gríma now being absent, the Men eagerly discussed means of doing away with the wizard. It was pretty generally known that Gandalf kept his door bolted at night, so they knew they could not get at him then. It had also been noted that Gandalf drank wine only from bottles opened in his presence, so poisoning his drink was not an option. As for tampering with his food, he was served from the selfsame dishes as was the King, so they could not poison him without running the risk of likewise poisoning their liege. As they believed themselves to be loyal to the King—indeed, to be acting in their Lord's interests if not in fact on their Lord's behalf—they could hardly do that. The only solution was to arrange an 'accident' during the daytime, perhaps in the stable, for several of the horses were known to be quite wild.

It is in fact doubtful whether Gríma wanted Gandalf done away with altogether, for if the wizard were to die, then any knowledge he possessed about a certain place far to the north, a land quaintly called The Shire, would die with him. Besides, Gríma had too much respect for Gandalf's powers to believe that a few headstrong Riders would be able to get the better of him to the extent of bringing about his death. Still, he had hopes that the conspirators would cause the wizard an injury that would render him helpless or ineffectual. How delightful it would be if Gríma could contrive to bring Gandalf to Isengard in a state of weakness and confusion. Surely Saruman would reward Gríma most handsomely for such an achievement!

Little did Gríma guess, however, that he was not the only person in Edoras capable of lurking about and laying plots. The conversation amongst the conspirators was at this very moment being carefully observed by a figure who had silently slipped into the rubble nearby. This person listened intently, and then, after the plotters had disbanded, surreptitiously crept out of the hiding place and made for the Golden Hall. It was not easy, though, for this spy to gain a private audience with King Fengel.

"My Lord."

"You must not trouble me now; I have business to discuss with my counselors."

"But my Lord!"

"You have heard me! Be off with you!"

Tears filled the eyes of the spy, who was in fact not the least upset but knew very well how to work upon the King.

"But, Granddada, I _really_ need to speak with you—I do!"

For all his stern demeanor, Fengel adored his grandchildren, including this feisty granddaughter of his.

"Oh, very well," he said gruffly. "But this had better not be another cat trapped in a cistern—I swear that I shall drown all the cats hereabouts if it is!"

"Good mousers, those cats," observed one of Fengel's counselors, grinning. "Be a dreadful toll taken on the grain if you did that, my Lord."

"Yes, yes," said Fengel impatiently. "Leave me with the child," he continued, waving dismissal to his counselors. "No, not you, Gríma. You may remain."

"No, not Gríma!" protested Fengel's granddaughter. She had not seen Gríma in the company of the plotters, but she instinctively distrusted him nonetheless.

"That's _Master_ Gríma to you," Fengel chided. "He is your elder, and decorum demands that you address him so."

"Oh, I pray you, my Lord, do not rebuke the child on my account," said Gríma unctuously. "It is natural for the young to speak impulsively. I will leave you now, my Lord, for I would not intrude upon a tender moment between grandfather and granddaughter." He smiled ingratiatingly at the girl. She was not yet betrothed, and Gríma harbored the hope that his own grandson might be considered as a candidate for her hand. It would not do to alienate the child, whose wishes would no doubt have a great influence upon her doting grandfather.

For all his pains, however, he received nothing but a scowl from the child. A wild thing, Gríma thought indignantly. Well, but a wild thing could be caged. Should his grandson succeed in securing her in marriage, he would see it done. The cage would be gilded, as befit her status—and his grandson's, of course—but it would be a cage nonetheless.

For now, though, he bowed obsequiously and retired from the room. Once he was gone, Fengel abandoned his regal manner and gestured for his granddaughter to come near. He drew her onto his lap and spoke kindly.

"Now, Théodwyn, what is so important that my counselors must be driven from the chamber?"

"I overheard some Men talking on the ramparts."

Fengel frowned. He spoke gently but firmly.

"Théodwyn, have you once again been creeping about outside the Hall? You know that such behavior is not seemly."

"Theoden crawls into all sorts of spaces. Did I ever tell you it was Theoden the cat followed into the cistern?"

"No, but I had guessed it. Yet that is of no moment. Theoden is a boy, and it is to be expected that a boy will get into all sorts of scrapes."

"Granddada, that is not fair!"

"I do not see that at all. Boys are boys, and girls are girls. Each has their proper sphere. You are not made for creeping about on your hands and knees."

"Then why have I got them?" said Théodwyn promptly.

"What?" said Fengel, confused.

"Then why have I got them?"

"Got what?"

"Hands and knees."

Bemused, Fengel wondered whence came Théodwyn's odd notions. Well, someday she would marry and have children, and that would put an end to her seemingly endless questions. He wondered for a moment whether, if she had a daughter, the child would inherit her waywardness, but then he shook off the thought and returned his mind to the present.

"Enough idle chatter, child. You overheard some Men, and no doubt you wish to tell me what was said."

"Yes, Granddada. They want to hurt Master Mithrandir."

Fengel was not surprised to learn this, but he was worried nonetheless. He hid his concern from his granddaughter, however.

"Did they?" he said calmly. "When Men have time on their hands, they will while it away in reckless speech that in the end signifies nothing."

"No, Granddada," insisted Théodwyn, "they really mean to hurt him. I think"—she hesitated a moment—"I think they should like to see him dead. They called him 'Gandalf Storm Crow' and said that he had brought destruction upon the kingdom and would do worse if they dasn't stop him."

"Didn't," Fengel corrected absent-mindedly.

"Didn't stop him," Théodwyn continued. "They plan to invite him riding, and they will have him mounted upon the wildest of the horses, and they will stick a burr under the saddle, and they will contrive to provoke the horse into bucking, and Mithrandir will be thrown, and once he is upon the ground they will trample him under the hooves of their own horses, and then they will come back and tell you 'twas an accident."

The child paused for breath, and Fengel found that he himself was breathless. It was a cold-blooded plot that had just come from the lips of his granddaughter.

"Theodwýn," he said gravely. "Said they ought of me?"

"Yes, Granddada."

Fengel braced to hear the worst.

"They said you were a good and gracious king and that 'twas pity you'd been imposed upon by a wizard. They said 'twas their duty to remove his evil influence from your side, for you were too honorable to act against him yourself because of the friendship you had long shared."

Fengel exhaled. The situation was bad, but at least the Men's anger and frustration were directed neither at he himself nor at his kin.

"Know you these Men, my child?"

"Aye, Granddada."

Théodwyn recited the names of the conspirators.

"Thank you, Theodwýn. You have done well to come to me. Now go and say nothing of this matter. Tell the servant to send Gríma to me."

Théodwyn did not like that last command, but she reluctantly did as she was told. Gríma hastened to the side of the king, who had been turning over in his mind a plan to get the plotters away from court for the time being without raising anyone's suspicion.

"Gríma, it has been long since you have carried a message to Isengard, and I would not have the Lord Saruman think that we would neglect his friendship. Tomorrow, therefore, you will depart for that place bearing a letter and such gifts as we can afford in this time of scarcity. You will be well escorted, of course, by the Men whom I trust the most."

Quickly Fengel reeled off the names of the plotters. Perhaps admiration, however grudging, was due to Gríma on this occasion. For he managed to keep his countenance, his expression betraying not the slightest alarm even though, given the Men who were being sent away from Edoras, he at once suspected that the king had somehow learned of the plot.

"As you wish, my Lord," he said, his voice as smooth as ever. "I will go at once to prepare myself for the journey."

"Thank you, Gríma. Oh, yes, see that Mithrandir is summoned to my chamber."

"Of course, my Lord."

That clinched Gríma's suspicions. Mithrandir was to be told, and now there would be no hope of catching the wizard off guard. Usually Gríma was pleased to be sent to Isengard. This time, however, he dreaded the coming audience with Saruman, for he would have much to explain away. The Lord of Isengard had little patience for those who failed to fulfill his behests.

"Mithrandir, my friend," the King greeted the wizard as he approached. "I fear that we must be parted sooner than expected."

"You are going on a journey?"

"No, _you_ are going on a journey."

"The Imladris Elves have arrived, then?"

"No, but you are going to ride out to meet them. I am afraid that the environs of Edoras are no longer a healthy place for you."

Quickly Fengel explained what he had learned and how he had dealt with the conspirators.

"Those Men will be out of the way and quite unable to come after you, but I fear lest others share their suspicions. I will furnish you with provisions and with a horse—a gentle one who will not buck, I assure you!—and you must set out toward your friends."

"If my friends were out in that storm," Gandalf pointed out, "they may have been badly battered and would no doubt have been looking forward to your hospitality. Indeed, they may be in great need of it."

Fengel was troubled.

"True, and it grieves me that circumstances do not permit me to host them. Look you, my friend: I shall see that you are provided with several packhorses that will be laden with whatever provisions can be spared. At least your friends will be able to say that they enjoyed several meals at my expense, if not at my board."

The next morning Gríma and his escort rode out, and the morning after Gandalf departed. The intervening day Fengel's servants spent in packing food and supplies for the Elves. Fengel's people provided for the Fair Folk most generously, especially given how straightened the Rohirrim's own circumstances were. Leading the string of horses, and with his health restored, Gandalf left Edoras as comfortable in his mind as he could have been, given the danger that had necessitated his hasty departure. He rode at a steady but comfortable pace, reveling in the mild weather, neither too hot nor too cold, too dry nor too wet, that had succeeded the drought and subsequent tempest. Three days out from Edoras he caught sight of a company riding toward him from the northwest. At long last he was going to be reunited with his elven friends.


	27. Converging Paths

**_Lomiothiel_****_: _Thank you for your many responses!**

**_Kelly Kragen: _Yes, it must be allowed that Gríma in all his manifestations is very clever.  Pity that he, like Saruman, allowed his strengths to be twisted into the service of evil.  But I think the LOTR implies that this is something that could happen to virtually anyone. Look at the struggle within the souls of Smeagol/Gollum and Boromir.  Look at Frodo.  And it was a near thing for Bilbo, wasn't it?  Galadriel and Gandalf as well: they knew that they may be susceptible to evil, for both rejected the One Ring when it was freely offered to them by Frodo.**

**_Joee_****_: _Gandalf, Elrond, and company make it back to Imladris without incident?  Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!  Gasp!  Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha! Wheeze!**

**_AzureDragoness_****_: _If it were possible for you to step into the story and slap Gríma, believe me I would gladly give you my permission.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_ the Discerning, of course!**

**Chapter 27: Converging Paths**

Tathar ran his hand lovingly over the polished surface of the table he had crafted for Edwen Nana and then once again cast a critical eye upon its joints.  Yes, he decided at last, this would be a worthy gift for the elleth who had been Anomen's foster-mother and well nigh his own mother as well.

"Tathar!"

The artisan turned at hearing the amused voice of Legolas.

"I hope this now meets your exacting standards," said the Prince, "for I fear that if you polish it any more it will be reduced to the thinness of paper!"

"I am sure," replied Tathar jestingly, "that Nana will use it to lay out and measure cloth for the tunics that she is forever sewing for you, and you would not want your garments to be ruined by being snagged upon splinters!"

"The Valar forfend!" rejoined Legolas, laughing.  "Polish on!"

"Nay," smiled Tathar.  "I have in truth finished this commission.  Have you another for me?"

"I do indeed!  I commission you—to join me on a journey to Erebor!  My father has at long last reluctantly agreed to allow me to venture a little beyond the borders of this land—as long as I stay within the bounds of realms with which we are allied.  As the path to Erebor lies entirely within the region controlled by Esgaroth, he has given in to my pleas that I be allowed to visit the Lonely Mountain of the Dwarves.  In fact, he is not even insisting that Gilglîr accompany me!"

"That is news indeed!" exclaimed Tathar, impressed.

"Aye!  And more: my father has deputized me to complete the trade negotiations initiated by Gilglîr.  I am even authorized to sign the final agreement in the stead of the monarch of Greenwood!"

"The King invests great trust in you!"

"He does, but he also urges me to take pleasure in the journey, and so I seek you out as one of my companions.  I shall have advisors and guards enough, I know, but I want a co-conspirator!"

"Then Tawarmaenas no doubt goes as well," observed Tathar, grinning.

Legolas looked sad.

"No, the King and his counselors have decreed that Tawarmaenas and I are never to travel outside the realm in company one with the other.  If I go, Tawarmaenas must stay; if Tawarmaenas goes, I remain."

"I had thought those restrictions would be relaxed with the others, now your father and Gilglîr are sure all the conspirators are accounted for."

Legolas shook his head.

"That is the one restriction that is not to be lifted, for, as my father declares, one never knows when a new threat may arise, if not from within the kingdom, then from without."

"I suppose there is good sense in what he says," Tathar allowed, "but it is a shame that your cousin cannot go with us."

"Yes, especially as he has been to Erebor once before, in the company of my father, and was eagerly looking forward to returning with me so that he might guide me to the places that most delighted him.  However, he has been given leave to accompany us to Lake-town, for that scarce takes him beyond our borders—that's some consolation, at least."

By the turning of the moon, Legolas and his escort were ready to depart the Great Hall.  The evening before their departure, Thranduil anxiously paced up and down his private chamber as Gilglîr watched in amusement.

"Really, Thranduil, it is only Erebor!"

"Aye, the Desolation of Smaug!"

"There is little sign of desolation, and Smaug is long gone."

"How do we know there were not any dragon eggs left thereabouts?  Even as we speak, a hatchling worm may be slithering about the environs of the Lonely Mountain."

"You are forgetting your Natural History, Thranduil.  Smaug was a male dragon."

"Yes, well, perhaps he had a mate."

"Such a spouse could hardly have been hidden."

"Moreover," Thranduil ranted on, ignoring Gilglîr's last words, "I have heard it said that there are neither true males nor true females amongst the dragons, that they are like certain fish and snails and slugs and worms that bear the genitals of both genders.  Herm-somethings."

"Hermaphrodites?"

"Aye, hermaphrodites!"

"Even a hermaphrodite," said Gilglîr calmly, "will adopt one gender or the other.  It is just that a hermaphrodite is not particular about _which_ gender, either partner being open to the other one, so to speak.  I know that Men have a quaint expression in which one Man will direct a second Man to copulate with himself, but I hardly think such an act would be a physical possibility for either Man or dragon, even a hermaphroditic dragon.  Therefore, as Smaug had no mate, there could have been no eggs; no eggs, no hatchlings.  Erebor is quite safe, and your son likewise."

Gilglîr was quite right in reassuring Thranduil that there could be no dragons anywhere near the Lonely Mountain.  He was wrong, however, in concluding that Erebor was thus safe.  Dragons had never been the only threat in that region; nor was there anything to prevent new threats, hitherto unimagined, from arising.  In truth, even as Thranduil and Gilglîr debated, a malevolent intelligence was considering how best to wreak havoc in the northeastern lands whose peoples had grown complacent since the destruction of the worm Smaug.  In the tower of Orthanc, in the fastness of Isengard, Saruman unrolled a map and studied it carefully.  Near him hovered Gríma, even more obsequious than usual, as he had already aroused Saruman's wrath by failing to ensnare Gandalf and had no wish to anger the wizard further.

"The Elves of Northern Mirkwood are on guard against threats from the south," mused Saruman, "for danger has all too frequently assailed them from that direction.  It would also be futile to attack them from the west, for their border guards perceive all who approach across the plain.  No, both the south and the west are too well guarded, and any attack would be beaten back with great ease.  An attack from the north or the east, however, would cause greater damage.  Those sides are not as well defended, for they feel protected by the presence in those regions of the Men of Esgaroth and the Dwarves of Erebor."

"My Lord," said Gríma, momentarily surprised out of his servility, "to reach Mirkwood, your forces would first have to march through both of those kingdoms.  You will have to expend many troops to do so, for the resistance of both Men and Dwarves will be fierce.  Moreover, the battle to cross those two kingdoms will take several days, and old Thranduil will receive messages warning him that enemies approach.  He will hasten to shift warriors to the north and the east.  Even though he will be taken somewhat by surprise, his realm will be by no means unfortified in those directions by the time your army reaches his borders."

Saruman shrugged, unconcerned at the prospect that many of his fighters would die.

"As for the loss of troops, it is of no moment.  I can always breed more Orcs and buy more Men. Likewise, it is of no importance that my forces will not take Thranduil totally by surprise, for it is not necessary that they do so.  It is not even necessary that they defeat Thranduil altogether."

Gríma was perplexed.  Why launch an attack against an enemy you plan neither to surprise nor defeat?

Saruman laughed belittlingly.

"Why should I want to conquer the miserable land of Mirkwood?  It contains nothing that I either desire or need.  Even its spiders are of no interest to me, for they are too difficult to control, else I would have long ago sought to capture some for my own ends.  No, I merely mean to keep Thranduil busy and off balance and to draw the eyes—and mayhap the troops—of Elrond, Galadriel, and Celeborn to his kingdom.  For it is in fact a land to the northwest that interests me, and I would have its borders unwatched and undefended."

"A land to the northwest?  You mean the Shire."

"Aye, the Shire.  A land frequented by one meddlesome wizard, Gandalf the Grey, whom, you will recall, you have not succeeded in delivering docile to my hand."

Saruman glowered at Gríma, and the Man cringed.

"I assure you, my Lord, I did my utmost!"

"Pity.  If you had not done your utmost, there might be hope that you could do better next time—but apparently there is not."

"I mean, my Lord," Gríma hastily amended, "I _would_ have done my utmost had I not been prevented!"

"Prevented by whom, I wonder."

Gríma had some suspicions as to who had revealed the conspiracy to Fengel, but he was not about to confess to Saruman that he had been bested by a child—and a girl-child at that.  He was sure that if he did, he himself would meet with an 'accident'.

"No doubt that miserable conjurer, having learned much from you during visits to Isengard," said Gríma carefully, "was able to counter my poor skills, being as they are so much inferior to yours."

Entertained by Gríma's shiftiness as a cat is diverted by a mouse's futile efforts to evade it, Saruman pulled his lips back in a simulacrum of a smile, baring his teeth in the process.  Gríma, you may be sure, took little comfort from the gesture!  But for the time being the wizard was willing to let the matter pass.  Gríma was still useful to him.

"I have composed the usual gracious reply to the crude Man who pretends to be King of his rabble of riders.  You will of course deliver it with all the customary protestations of my respect and eagerness to serve.  Some day I will cast aside this petty alliance when I can replace it with more reliable tools, but for now I must suffer the fool and his servants."

At that last phrase, Saruman looked meaningfully at Gríma, whose apprehension grew all the more.  If there were times when Gríma regretted having chosen the path of treachery, no doubt this would have been one such occasion.

"I will prepare to depart at once, my Lord," he said quickly.

Saruman chuckled sourly.  "No doubt Fengel's fool is anxious to get safely away from Orthanc," he thought to himself.  "Idiot!  He should know by now that each day my arm grows longer.  The day will come when nothing and no one will be beyond my reach."   

Aloud he said nothing, merely handing the whey-faced Gríma the missive and waving his dismissal.  Trembling, Gríma backed away as swiftly as he was able and then, once safely out the door, scurried to the Rohirrim's quarters and commanded his escort to immediately saddle their horses.  In less than an hour, the Riders were galloping away from the Ring of Isengard, watched from the summit of Orthanc by a morbidly amused Saruman.  Once they were out of view, he descended the tower and gave orders for the arming of a great host of Orcs and Men that was to first fall from the north upon Erebor.

Oblivious to the looming attack, Legolas and Tathar were at this very moment preparing to set out on the first stage of their own journey to Erebor.  They were to go by boat down the Forest River to Lake-town, where they would stay several weeks.  Thence they would be ferried to the northern shore of the Long Lake, from which they would take horses for the ride to the Lonely Mountain.  Now Legolas and his father stood o'erlooking the boats as they were laden with supplies and gifts for their hosts.

"Why must we journey by boat, Ada?" asked Legolas, his face perfectly straight.  "It would be faster if we were to ride barrels."

"I stand amazed in the face of your cleverness," replied his father, his face equally solemn.  Gilglîr, standing nearby, grinned at the exchange.  As each day went by, Thranduil and his son bantered more boldly one with the other.  Of course, occasionally they would misread each other, but that was only to be expected, separated as they had been for a millennia.

Tathar now appeared, walking by the side of Tawarmaenas, who, good-natured as he was, had quickly recovered from his disappointment at only being allowed to journey as far as Lake-town and was laughing and joking with the carpenter.  It also helped that Thranduil had promised that upon Legolas' return Tawarmaenas could ride as messenger—escorted, of course—to Lothlórien to invite Haldir and his brothers for a visit.  

Legolas hailed his cousin and his friend as they approached.

"Tawarmaenas, Tathar, I was just saying to my father that barrel-riding would be a better mode of transport.  Tathar, have you ever ridden a barrel from here to Esgaroth?"

"No, but I have heard all about your exploits in that regard—although, of course, I did not know that you were the Legolas whose deeds were so celebrated!"

"You see, Ada," Legolas grinned, turning to his father, "my deeds are celebrated!  I have a reputation to uphold."

"But you should know," Tathar interjected, "that those celebrated deeds very nearly cost me my braids!  Once when I was in Lake-town, helping my father finish a commission, a band of young Elves floated into the Long Lake on barrels.  They approached very near the town before they were spotted.  Of course, once the Men laid eyes upon them, the alarm was raised, and the chase commenced.  The Elves abandoned the barrels and succeeded in swimming to the shore, whence they immediately scattered in all directions.  The disappointed Men returned to the town.   Later, after I had completed my tasks for the day, I was walking in Lake-town when a Man shouted, 'There goes one!  Look!  Look!  A barrel rider!  Catch him!'  I ran, but even though I am an Elf, so many gave chase that I was at last cornered by a group of cheering Men brandishing shears.  Fortunately for me, the commission had been for the King of Esgaroth, and his son the Prince, attracted by the hubbub, came out to investigate and was able to assure the Men that I had been laboring the entire day in the King's Hall.  So instead of losing my braids, I was treated to some very good Dorwinion wine by my disappointed but good-humored hosts!"

The Elves laughed heartily at the story.

"I hope," chuckled Thranduil, "that no one raises a hue and cry upon Legolas' heels, for the Prince will not be able to give him as good a character as he gave you, Tathar.  I am afraid he could not vouch for my son without perjuring himself!"

"Ada!" exclaimed Legolas, pretending to be hurt.

"Oh, be off with you, you scamp!"  Suddenly Thranduil grew serious.  "Now, remember, Legolas, that this will be your first time in charge of an embassy.  As Gilglîr is not accompanying you, all the decisions, all the negotiations, are your responsibility.  Comport yourself with dignity and wisdom.  But above all," he added softly so that only Legolas might hear, "come back safe to me."

"I will, Ada," replied Legolas, now equally serious.

Thranduil gestured toward the boats.

"All is in readiness.  Farewell, ion-nîn."

Thranduil kissed Legolas upon the forehead and then stepped back to stand by Gilglîr.  Legolas, Tathar, Tawarmaenas and the other members of the company stepped into the boats and cast off.  As they paddled swiftly down the river, the excited young Elves and their escort broke into song.  Smiling, Gilglîr remained on the bank watching the travelers until the boats vanished around a bend in the river.  Thranduil, too, remained watching.  There was, however, no smile upon his face, and foreboding clutched at his heart.


	28. Bobbing For Dwarves

**Chapter 28: Bobbing For Dwarves**

The party of Elves made very good time down the Forest River, although, as the water was low, they had to portage several more times than was usual.  Still, there were several hours of daylight left when they paddled up to a wharf at Lake-town and fastened their boats to the pilings.  The servants set about unloading the boats, and Tathar and Tawarmaenas eagerly took it upon themselves to guide Legolas on an initial tour through the town.  Both had visited Lake-town several times, Tathar in the company of his father, but Legolas had only seen it from afar, and each time from the back of a bobbing barrel.  The Prince was delighted to finally have an opportunity to wander its bustling streets and observe the people and their shops, filled as they were with the sounds of exotic languages and with goods of designs foreign to him.

Amongst the hubbub of strange tongues, Legolas heard from time to time the sounds of dwarvish dialects.  These languages he found uncouth, and their speakers likewise.  He had no love for Dwarves, having distrusted them ever since he had been treated with such suspicion by the surly Dwarf he had encountered whilst fleeing from Mirkwood to Rivendell.  Fortunately, he thought to himself, there were not too many Dwarves about, and, as they were short he told himself that he could contrive to 'overlook them', so to speak.

Long did Tathar, Tawarmaenas, and Legolas roam Lake-town, until at last the afternoon wore on and Legolas judged they ought to meet the rest of their party at the inn where the Mirkwood Elves would be staying.  When they arrived, the innkeeper showed them to the chamber the three of them would share.  After washing their hands and faces, they joined the rest of the company in the common room.  There, to Tathar's delight, they encountered the Men who had once tried to shear his braids but who had since become the Elf's friends.  The Men stood the Elves several rounds, and they and Tathar and Tawarmaenas were soon deep in raucous laughter and conversation.

Legolas had met many Men at Rivendell, and Estel of course was of man-kin.  Still, it was not often that the young Elf encountered so many of them at the same time—and in such a small, crowded, noisy space, too.  The scene began to overwhelm him.  "I am going out for a bit," he at last whispered to Tathar and Tawarmaenas, both of whom nodded distractedly.  Feeling a little forlorn, Legolas slipped to the door and wandered alone through the now empty streets of Lake-town.  At length his steps took him to the lakefront, and he meandered a little about the wharfs, at length venturing onto one dock in particular and stopping to enjoy the glimmer of the setting sun upon the water.

As Legolas stood gazing at the lake, he smelled pipeweed.  Looking about, he saw a tendril of smoke arising from the far side of a barrel that rested at the end of the pier.  At once he was seized by the fond hope that it was Gandalf who sat smoking on the other side of yonder barrel.  Stealing silently to the end of the dock, he suddenly leaped around the keg and found—a Dwarf.

The Dwarf sprang to his feet with an angry exclamation, for he, too, had been seeking solitude.

"What do you mean by sneaking up on a body?" he growled.

"I was not sneaking!" Legolas replied indignantly.

"You are an Elf," retorted the Dwarf, "and therefore by definition you sneak.  How else is it to be explained that no one ever hears the approach of an Elf?"

"It is because we are graceful that we make no sound," Legolas shot back.  "Unlike," he added, "some other races I could mention, who stomp about with as much grace as pregnant cows."

"Pregnant cows is it," snarled the Dwarf, who had dropped his pipe and had now placed a hand upon one of the several axes with which his belt bristled.  "At least a pregnant cow is fertile, which is more than can be said for the wit of an Elf!"

"What would a Dwarf know of fertility," taunted Legolas, "when it is well known that the Naugrim crawl out from holes in the ground.  Aye, turn over a rock and find a grub—or a Dwarf!"

The Dwarf drew an axe from his belt and brandished it.  Unfortunately, in doing so, he stepped back slightly and teetered on the edge of the dock.  Without a moment's hesitation, Legolas leaped forward and seized the first thing that came to hand, the Dwarf's beard.

"Not the beard!" wailed the Dwarf, and startled, Legolas let go, with predictable consequences.

"Curse all Naugrim," muttered a dismayed Legolas as the Dwarf disappeared with a mighty splash under the surface of the water.  Rapidly he stripped off boots and cloak and dived in after him.  He swam straight for the bottom.  As laden as the Dwarf was with axes and chain mail, he would not drift away in a current.  At least that would make him easy to find.

Legolas had surmised correctly.  Directly below, on the very bottom of the lake, stood the Dwarf, mouth closed but gesticulating for all he was worth, whether in rage or fear Legolas could not tell.  In one hand the Dwarf still clutched the axe, and Legolas wrenched it from him before pulling from his belt his other axes: two throwing axes, one on each side, and a large battle-axe that he bore upon his back.  The Dwarf's chain mail Legolas could not remove, but with the axes gone, he was able, although with some difficulty, to draw the Dwarf to the surface.  Both were panting as they crawled onto the dock.  Side by side they lay for awhile, recovering their breath.

"I suppose," the Dwarf gasped at last, "I have you to thank for pulling me from the water—although, I might add, I also have you to thank for my having fallen into the water in the first place!"

"As for your first statement," retorted Legolas, "you are welcome.  For your second, _I_ didn't tell you to wave an axe about whilst standing on the edge of a pier!"

"Axe!" spluttered the Dwarf, suddenly remembering.  "My axes!"  He crawled to the edge of the dock and peered over it.  "Whatever am I to do!?  What shall I tell my father!?  And those two throwing axes were uncommonly well balanced!  And that was my largest battle-axe!"

Now, Legolas valued his own weapons and would have been loath to have lost his carefully crafted bow or his matched knives, a gift from Elladan and Elrohir and an heirloom of their house.  He heart softened—although only a little!  He did not offer to dive down to retrieve the axes, but he did provide the Dwarf some comfort.

"It grows late," Legolas said, "and will soon be dark.  But in the morning I have no doubt but that you will be able to find some boys hereabouts who will be glad to dive down to retrieve your axes.  You needn't fear losing them, as they will stay right where they are."

"They'll rust," muttered the Dwarf.

"One night will not ruin them," replied Legolas.  "As soon as they are recovered, I am sure you will dry and polish and oil them—you look like a Dwarf who values his weapons and knows how to care for them."

The Dwarf grunted a little at the compliment and then uttered a compliment in return, albeit grudgingly.

"You are fair spoken—for an Elf."

He arose, and Legolas arose likewise.

"Fare you well, Master Elf," the Dwarf mumbled.

"And you likewise," answered Legolas.

With that the two parted.  Legolas, carrying boots and cloak, returned to their inn, where Tathar and Tawarmaenas still sat hoisting drinks with his companions.  Slipping past the common room, the Prince made his way to their chamber and changed into dry clothes before rejoining his friends.

As for the Dwarf, he returned to the tavern where he had a room with his father, who was properly astonished when his son, dripping wet, clumped across the threshold of the chamber.

"Whatever have you been doing?" he exclaimed.  "Surely not bathing, for you have already done that once this year.  Besides, I would hope that you would remember from your previous bath that clothes are to be removed when you bathe—aye, and chain mail, too, lest it rust."

"I know that," grumbled the younger Dwarf.  "How could I have forgotten that last bath—ugh, the soap got in my eyes and it took forever for my beard to dry.  So, no, I wasn't bathing.  I fell in the lake."

"Whatever did you do _that_ for?"

"Did it _for_!?  Did it _for_!?  Surely you don't think I _planned_ it!  No, it was all on account of an Elf."

"An Elf!  Did an Elf push you in!?"  The older Dwarf reached for an axe.

"Reaching for an axe may not always be wise," observed the younger Dwarf wryly, "as I have reason to know.  Father, the Elf did not push me.  You will notice I said it was 'on account of an Elf'.  I did not exactly say that it was the _fault_ of an Elf.  I myself bear some of the blame.  I must also acknowledge that the Elf did pull me out again, else I would probably still be keeping vigil on the bottom of the lake."

"Who was this Elf?" demanded the older Dwarf.  His son had to concede that he had not thought to exchange names with the Elf who had been both his antagonist and rescuer.

"But be sure that if I ever meet him again we will become better acquainted!  In some ways he was not a bad lot, as Elves go.  Still, it is said that it is best to know one's enemy, and an Elf is but little short of being an enemy!  Nobody trusts an Elf!"

"True," agreed the father.  "And you must be certain that you do learn more about this Elf, should you encounter him in the future."

The son followed the advice of his father.  The next time ever he met Legolas, the Dwarf Gimli son of Gloin would indeed become well acquainted with him.


	29. The Cradle Will Fall

**My thanks to the following for their comments and encouragement: _Dragonfly, Lomiothiel, Joee, Kelly Kragen, Grumpy, _and_ Rae132_.**

**Beta Reader: Once again, _Dragonfly_, who suggested no fewer than six improvements and suggestions!**

**Chapter 29: The Cradle Will Fall**

The next morning Glóin and his son Gimli departed from Lake-town, for they were on their way to the southeast to check out a rumor that a new vein of gold had been discovered in those parts. Legolas and his friends, however, for many days remained in Lake-town, where they were very well entertained by King Bain and his son Brand, although Legolas did not allow the feasting to dull his wits. He was able to conclude a trade agreement on grounds very favorable to the Elves, yet without provoking the ire of the Men who sat opposite him at the table. No doubt the time he had spent in Estel's company aided Legolas in this matter, for Estel could be very cagy, and Legolas had had to develop slyness in return.

During their free time, Legolas, Tathar, and Tawarmaenas roamed the streets of Lake-town in the company of Tathar's friends, who introduced them to many other merry Men, so that the evenings were always full of song, dance, and all manner of jollity, as long as it was seemly and did not break the King's peace. The only pleasure in which Legolas refused to participate was a boat ride by torchlight to the site in the lake below which lay the bones of the great worm Smaug. Legolas shuddered when this was suggested to him, for he remembered the last time he had come near that bejeweled carcass.

"Nay," he exclaimed vehemently, "I will not venture near that accursed place, for very nearly I left my own bones strewn amongst those of the worm. You are welcome to go, Tathar and Tawarmaenas, but I will remain behind and find some other means of amusing myself."

So it was that he was sitting motionless, at the edge of a dock but hidden by several crates, when a lone man, heavily cloaked so that his face was hidden, paddled up to the landing. As he secured his boat, another man, similarly cloaked, approached him on foot.

"Is all well?" asked the first Man.

"Aye," replied the second. "In Esgaroth there is no thought of war. Swords grow rusty, leather scabbards crack, and paint peels from shields. The Men give only thought to feasting and drinking and grow as fat as Dwarves sitting contentedly upon heaps of gold and silver! They will fight, no doubt, but not effectually. In the absence of Smaug, they have grown complacent."

"Excellent! Excellent!" gloated the first Man. "I shall bring word to my master. As for myself, I have discovered that the Dwarves are equally unprepared. They grow as fat as, well, as fat as Dwarves sitting contentedly upon heaps of gold and silver!"

Both Men cackled at his wit.

"Oh, that's rich," chortled his companion.

"Aye," agreed the first Man, "so to speak!"

More ill-natured laughter. Then the second Man resumed speaking.

"I have a little bit of extra news that shall rejoice our master. The Prince of Mirkwood has been in Lake-town these past several weeks. I had thought to assassinate him, but he and his party plan to journey on to the Lonely Mountain only a few days hence."

"Oh ho!" exclaimed his companion with wicked glee. "He will be in Erebor when the blow falls. I am glad you did not murder him, for it would not have pleased our master. If the Prince can be taken alive, he will be a useful bargaining chip. Indeed, his capture may make it unnecessary for our troops to invade Mirkwood. We will sweep through Erebor and Esgaroth and so come to the border of Mirkwood. Then we shall produce the Prince. Old Thranduil will order his warriors to lay down their arms, for 'tis said by all that he dotes upon the Prince as no father has ever doted upon son."

Had the circumstances been different, Legolas would have been delighted at hearing such testimony to the love his father bore him. As it was, he was putting all his energy into remaining absolutely still, for he had left his weapons at the inn. As quiet as Elves can be, he still hardly dared breathe, lest even the slightest of respirations draw the attention of the spies. He was quite faint by the time the first Man had cast off and paddled away and the second Man had slipped back into the shadows. Then, ever so cautiously, keeping to the shadows himself, Legolas made his way to the King's Hall and craved admission, even though the hour was late, so late, in fact, that Legolas was ushered into the King's private chamber, where he found King Bain in his nightdress. This suited Legolas, however, for no servants or counselors were in attendance, and he was loath to speak before anyone but the King. He had seen the face of neither conspirator and feared lest the Man be hidden within the household of King Bain himself.

"My Lord," began Legolas, not bothering with the formalities of apologizing for the late hour, "there are traitors in your realm, one of them within Lake-town itself." Quickly he recounted the conversation he had overheard. When he was finished, the King, famed for his courage and decisiveness, demonstrated his mettle. Without hesitation, he led Legolas through the conversation again, probing for any clue, any hint as to the identity of the spies. When his efforts failed, he at once turned toward planning how to deal with the threat to the three kingdoms.

"I must put my soldiers in readiness," he mused, "but I wish to do so without tipping my hand, for I still have hopes of discovering the spies, as well as the identity of their master. How am I to accomplish this?"

"Our trade negotiations have just concluded, and successfully," Legolas pointed out. "In the past it has often been the custom to hold games between the two parties at the successful conclusion of an embassy. Before my company departs for Erebor, let it be known that we will shortly return, and that other Elves will be arriving from Greenwood straightaway, in order to participate in such games. You may further let it be known that you wish your soldiers and young Men to prepare to defend the honor of Esgaroth in swordsmanship, archery, and horsemanship. Your people will throw themselves into preparations with great enthusiasm, and it is to be hoped that the suspicions of our enemies will not be aroused."

"You are wise for one so young," said King Bain.

Legolas accepted the compliment graciously, but inwardly he smiled at the irony. To Men, he looked scarcely older than an adolescent youth, but he was in fact a millennium older than the King.

"My fellow monarchs must of course be told," the King continued. "Will you yourself take the news to your father?"

"No," replied Legolas. "Tawarmaenas is to return to the Great Hall when I journey on to Erebor. He will carry word to King Thranduil."

"Your father will not like that," the King pointed out. "He will want you by his side." Bain knew, as did everyone else, of Thranduil's love for his son.

"True," conceded Legolas, "but it is generally known that I intend to journey on to the Lonely Mountain to negotiate an agreement with the Dwarves of Erebor. If this longstanding plan were to be altered, it might arouse suspicion. Moreover, news of the threat must be carried to King Dáin. It cannot be carried by one of your Men, for we have no way of knowing which one is the traitor. I will carry it myself."

King Bain agreed to this plan reluctantly, for he knew that Thranduil would have some harsh words for him when next they met.

Legolas and the King talked some time further, and then Legolas prepared to take his leave. Bain stayed him, however, when he would have gone.

"You must allow me to arrange to have my son and some of his friends escort you to your inn. Such an escort would attract no notice, for it will merely be assumed that you have been out late carousing with him."

"If it would not be too much trouble, I would in truth be glad of an escort. I should not like to encounter the spy alone and unarmed!"

It proved to be easy enough to arrange for Prince Brand to accompany Legolas. Brand had not yet turned in and was, yes, carousing. Legolas shared a few drinks with him and his boon-companions, and then the young Men willingly agreed to walk—or in the case of some, stagger—with him to his lodging. Almost as soon as they set foot outside the King's Hall, Prince Brand drew the attention of the watch for singing rather too loudly. So in the end Legolas was very well attended indeed, both by the roisterers and by the guards who marched alongside them, indignantly shushing Prince Brand the entire way. Thus Legolas arrived safely at the inn, there to be met by Tathar and Tawarmaenas, who were at that moment anxiously issuing forth in search of him.

"Here we were worrying about you," scolded Tawarmaenas with a grin, "but I see from the state of your companions"—Brand was giggling and hiccoughing—"that we ought to have spared ourselves the concern!"

Legolas grinned back at his cousin, but his heart was not in it. He knew he could tell Tawarmaenas nothing about what had transpired, for if he did, his cousin would not hear of his going on to Erebor. He would have to put it all down in a letter whose seal was only to be broken by King Thranduil himself. As for Tathar, he also meant to tell him nothing, and he began to think of excuses for sending the artisan back to the Great Hall. "He has been trained not as a warrior but as a carpenter," Legolas thought to himself, "and I cannot lead him into danger! I must find some reason for Tathar to accompany Tawarmaenas back to Mirkwood."

The next morning he broached the subject with his friend.

"We have been entertained quite well by the Men of Esgaroth," he began.

"Very well indeed," agreed Tathar enthusiastically.

"I am afraid," Legolas said regretfully, "that we cannot expect such generous hospitality at the hands of the Dwarves."

"Oh, but we can!" Tathar assured him. "The Men hereabouts say that it is a matter of honor amongst Dwarves to treat each guest in a kingly fashion—even if the guest is, in point of fact, not a king. We may therefore look forward to red meat on the bone washed down with copious quantities of ale!"

"That may be true as a general rule," replied Legolas, "but there has been bad blood between Greenwood and the Lonely Mountain. I would not have you drawn into the dispute and treated unkindly as a result. Therefore, you should accompany Tawarmaenas back to the Great Hall."

A heavy and lengthy silence ensued, and Legolas thought despairingly that he had hurt the feelings of his friend and perhaps alienated him irretrievably. But when Tathar at last spoke there was no resentment in his voice.

"Legolas, once, long ago, I knew nothing and could do nothing when you were dragged away from the clearing to be subject to ill-use at the hands of your father—no! do not protest! It is well known that your father, for all his kindness to you now, for a time treated you very badly. Now, however, I am an Elf full-grown, and I will not stand by helplessly whilst you journey toward danger."

Legolas stared at him with mouth gaping, a very unelflike expression. "But-but-how did you know?" he stammered.

"Legolas, since you returned to the inn last night, you have thrice checked the fletching on your arrows and have examined the points an equal number of times. You have sharpened the blades of your knives as well as that of your sword, and you have strung and repeatedly tested your bow. When I am about to begin a commission, I examine and prepare my tools. You are a warrior. Before you go into battle, you examine and prepare your weapons, do you not?"

"You are right," Legolas admitted unhappily. "I journey toward battle. That is why you must return to the Great Hall. You are a carpenter, not a warrior, and must not follow me into this conflict."

"Aye, I am a carpenter," agreed Tathar, "and I can wield an axe in such a fashion as would put some Dwarves to shame! No tree can withstand me; no, nor any Orc neither!"

Legolas smiled.

"You are forgetting, Tathar, that the trees do not dodge your blows. Nor do they swing back! Nay, my friend, you must go back to the Great Hall."

"If you want me to return there, you shall have to send me home tied in a sack!" exclaimed Tathar defiantly. "For otherwise I shall follow you!"

"Clearly you have spent too much time in the vicinity of Dwarves," muttered Legolas in frustration. "For surely you are as obstinate and mulish as one of those thick-headed, obdurate, and unyielding creatures."

"That's right," chuckled Tathar. "Also stubborn and stiff-necked—do not forget those epithets for a Dwarf. But as I am so unbending, you have no alternative but to make allowances for that fact."

"I like not your logic," grumbled Legolas.

"You may not like it," retorted Tathar, "but it is undeniable: I have proved to be the inflexible one, so you are the one who must show yourself to be reasonable."

"It would be reasonable," Legolas pointed out, "to force you to go home."

Tathar grinned in his face.

"You might as well accept it. I'm going with you, laddie."

Legolas made a wry face, but then he smiled fondly at his loyal friend. Truth be told, he was glad to have been outfaced by the carpenter. With only a slight show of reluctance, he explained matters to Tathar, what had transpired and what was to come.

"I think," Tathar said wisely, "that as this conflict will involve Dwarves, it would be wise to travel in their company and so develop if not their friendship, then at least their trust. Moreover, if our enemies are about to strike, it is better to be in a larger group than a smaller. A party of Dwarves will set out for the Lonely Mountain in a few days time. Let our departure be timed so that we set out with them. They may look at us askance, but they will not be so discourteous as to reject our company, especially as you are the Prince of Greenwood and it is known that you travel as ambassador to King Dáin."

Legolas looked at Tathar with increased respect.

"You are both a carpenter and a diplomat, my friend!"

"All artisans must be diplomats," Tathar joked, "for they must fashion not only their wares but also their relationships with their patrons. Moreover, I have spent many hours inconspicuously mending and sanding furniture in the presence chamber whilst the King and his counselors have debated matters of state. I have never intended to eavesdrop, but, will I or no, I cannot help but hear! And if I hear, I learn."

"I think," mused Legolas, "that when the time comes for me to constitute my own council, you shall sit upon one of the chairs you have crafted."

"I shall serve you in any capacity I may," Tathar replied simply, "whether it be the shaping of policy or of a table leg."

"Well said," exclaimed Legolas, clapping his friend upon the shoulder, "and it is straightforward speech such as that which I shall need to hear when I am King. But, come, let us put your plan in motion. Our company must be ready to depart whensoe'er the Dwarves set out."

It was as Tathar had predicted. There was some muttering, and sidelong glances were cast when the Elves boldly walked into the midst of the Dwarves on the day of their departure, but no one ventured to publicly voice any objections. Indeed, a few of the Dwarves had kin who had once, in company with Gandalf, been hosted by Lord Elrond in Rivendell, and they at least condescended to nod gruff greetings toward the Elves. Knowing what was at stake, Legolas pushed aside his antipathy toward Dwarves and, once the boatmen had set them down on the northern shore of the lake and they were mounted, he made a point of riding alongside the friendlier Dwarves and making conversation with them. Before too long, these Dwarves were looking upon him with some respect. "He is indeed a Prince among Elves, so to speak," they muttered amongst themselves, and only a little grudgingly.

As they rode, Legolas had insisted on sending ahead scouts, even though he was mocked by the Dwarves for doing so. "This is Erebor," the Dwarves scoffed, "land of both the Dwarves and the Men of Dale. What is there to fear?" But when Legolas persisted in sending out scouts, the Dwarves grew suspicious and demanded that each elven scout be accompanied by a dwarven one. Since the dwarven scouts on their ponies could not keep up with the elven scouts on their horses, this resulted in each elf riding with a dwarf clinging tightly to his waist. Legolas was devoutly grateful that he himself was not serving as a scout. How he would have hated to have a Dwarf hanging on to him!

As it turned out, the Dwarves were to be more than encumbrances on horseback; they also would turn out to be very poor scouts, ill-versed as they were in the ways of seeing without being seen. As the company neared the Lonely Mountain, they began to come across abandoned and burned out cottages. Not a single Man of Dale was out in the fields harvesting; nor a single Dwarf did they encounter driving a wagon full of goods for trade. The Dwarves were very uneasy now, and Dwarves and Elves gathered in a circle to decide what to do.

"My Elves are trained scouts," said Legolas. "Some should go ahead and reconnoiter the Mountain. The rest of them should remain here, as should all the Dwarves."

"It is our land and our people that may be in peril," retorted a Dwarf indignantly. "It would be dishonorable to leave their defense to Elves!"

Patiently Legolas replied.

"I am not asking you to leave the defense of friends and kin to strangers. I merely ask that you allow us to gather information as to the enemy that awaits us—for surely this land is under siege. My scouts will bring back news as to their number and disposition, and then together we will decide what is best to be done."

But the Dwarves were not to be mollified, and as before each Elf was to be accompanied by a Dwarf. Two by two the 'scouts' went forth on foot—horses would be a hindrance now—and sought to slip as near to the Lonely Mountain as was possible without being spotted by their foes. As I have said, however, the Dwarves were no scouts, having devoted their lives to mining, smithing, and trading. The lead pair of 'scouts' reached a vantage point whence they could overlook the mountain, and from there they saw an immense army of Orcs encamped all about the Mountain, with their numbers especially great before the gates of the Dwarves' erstwhile stronghold. At the sight of this goblin host, the Dwarf half of this pair let out a loud and anguished squeak, rather a surprisingly high-pitched noise for a Dwarf, actually, and this sound was overheard by nearby Orc sentries, who at once raised the alarm.

"Spies! Spies!" howled an Orc who went running to the captain of the host. "An Elf and a Dwarf!"

"Oh ho! A conspiracy, eh," snarled the captain. "The pointy ears are making nice with the earth-grubbers. Must mean that we got their precious pointy-eared princeling trapped in that heap o' dirt. But the jig is up. We'll after 'em, boys!"

With the better part of the Dwarves of Erebor and the Men of Dale pinned helpless within the Lonely Mountain, the Orc captain confidently dispatched a considerable portion of his force to go after what he believed to be an approaching alliance sent for the purpose of raising the siege. "They'll never get near this mountain," he sneered. "We'll cut 'em to ribbons. Aye, and when we raise the heads and the shreds upon spears before the eyes of the Dwarves in that mountain, they'll hasten to offer terms—but the only terms we'll accept will be un-con-dee-shun-ul surrender, that's wot! Aye, surrender, and the princeling, wot will be well-entertained by the master, I _am_ sure." Here the captain emitted a most unpleasant sound that was a cross between a snarl and giggle, a sort of malevolent gargle, if you will. Then he went on spinning his unpleasant plans for the future of the Dwarves of Erebor and the elven prince whom they supposedly harbored within the Mountain.

"We'll set the earth-grubbers to mining gold and silver for the master, we will. And lashes for those wot don't meet the master's quota! Of course," he ruminated, "no doubt there'll be treasure enow set aside for the master's servants, say, those wot been great captains wot have got their hands on prisoners like pointy-eared princelings. Yesss, yesss," he cackled, rubbing his hands in anticipation of his reward, "I must get aholt o' that pointy-ear." The Orc grew a little anxious. "Must remember to tell the boys not to play wi' any elves wot come out o' that mountain. Master wants him 'alive and unspoiled'—that were the messenger's very words." It did not occur to him that the Elf whom he sought was in fact on the outside of the mountain rather than trapped within.

Meanwhile, pursued by Orcs, the scouts had been racing back to where the rest of the company waited, including of course, the 'pointy-eared princeling'. "Prince Legolas," cried the lead Elf as they reached the company, "A host of Orcs surrounds the Mountain on every side. And," he added, casting a disdainful look at his shamefaced dwarven companion, "they know we are here and are pursuing us."

Legolas swore several most unelvenly oaths that were so colorful that his stock at once rose mightily in the estimation of the Dwarves. That, and the fact that some of the Dwarves had already softened toward him, as well as the fact that he was the highest ranked member of the company and the only one who had extensive military experience, caused all eyes, Dwarf and Elf alike, to look toward him for leadership. Legolas wasted no time in assuming the mantle.

"Let us take the high ground," he declared, pointing at a hill whose summit was heavily wooded. "That knoll over yonder. Make for it. We shall take shelter behind the trees upon the crown. The slopes are bare, so that anyone who tries to mount the hill will be at the mercy of our archers. That at least will slow their progress, if not hold them off altogether."

Driving the horses and ponies before them, the Elves and Dwarfs hastily ascended the hill and disappeared behind the trees at its top. The Orc sentries were hard on their heels, however, and their position was descried. Soon the Orcs had surrounded the hill, swarming all about the base, beating their spears against the ground, taunting and jeering. The Orcs were in no hurry to move against them. In a situation such as this, with their quarry seemingly hopelessly trapped, Orcs preferred to take their time and so squeeze out all the entertainment value that could be gotten from slowly grinding down their foes before indulging in one final frenzy of butchery.

But the Elves and the Dwarves were by no mean in as hopeless a position as the Orcs believed. It was now that an axe wielder of a different ilk from the usual was about to come into his own, and with remarkable results. For on the summit of the hill, Tathar eyed the trees that were all about them. "Loan me one of your axes," he said to a Dwarf. Reluctantly, the Dwarf handed it over. Tathar hefted it appreciatively and then began to hack away at the base of a tree.

"Here now!" roared the Dwarf. "That's for hewing Orc necks. You'll dull it chopping wood!"

"And if I do, you can sharpen it again," retorted Tathar. "Your effort will be well rewarded, for by felling this tree, I shall create such a device as shall lay waste to more Orcs than you could fell with a hundred strokes of the axe alone. You have several more axes about your person; I suggest you pretend that this stand of trees is a band of Orcs and bring down each and every one of them."

Tathar spoke with such conviction that, after only a moment's hesitation, the Dwarf strode to a tree and began to strike at it with such skill and strength that it soon came crashing to the ground. Inspired by his example, the other Dwarves entrusted their spare axes to the remaining Elves, and soon, side by side, Dwarf and Elf were felling trees with abandon.

In the valley, the Orcs heard the sound of ringing axes.

"Cuttin' down trees, I should think," observed one of the Orcs to the leader of the band of goblins. "Prob'ly mean ter build a fort. Oughtn't we ter try an' stop 'em?"

"No," sneered the leader. "Let 'em wear themselves out hewing wood. They'll have the less strength to hack at us when the time comes to slaughter 'em. There cain't be too many of them on that little hill, and there are many of us, so we will have no trouble getting' over their pitiful barricade."

Throughout the day the Elves and Dwarves on top of the hill chopped down trees while the Orcs in the valley laughed at what they believed to be their futile labor. Meanwhile, Tathar hastened from side to side of the summit, at each point directing the erection of a sort of cradle into which the logs were laid at right angles to the slope. At last the hilltop was completely cleared of trees, all the trunks now resting in the cradles. As the sun sank and dusk came on, the Elves joined the horses and ponies within the center of their 'fortification' and waited. As for the Dwarves, Tathar had divided them up so that there were at least a few stationed at each end of every cradle.

It grew darker, and torches were kindled in the valley. The torches began to move up the slopes of the hill. The Elves bent their bows but held their fire, waiting for a command from Legolas. A light arced from the valley, and a flaming arrow struck one of the logs. A young Dwarf cried in panic, "They shall burn down the fortification!" He was shushed by an older and wiser Dwarf. More arrows fell upon the cradled wood, setting additional logs on fire. Tathar grinned. "They light the fire of their own destruction," he said sardonically. "And," he added softly, "they shall save us the trouble of kindling a funeral pyre for their carcasses."

Whooping and snarling, the Orcs swarmed steadily up the slopes, coming at the Elves and Dwarves from all sides, but no one made any move to stop them. When Tathar judged that all the Orcs must be on the hill, with none left in the valley, he at last gave the signal. "Now, my friends!" he shouted. "To your axes!"

With a will, the Dwarves wielded their axes, but they did not hew Orc necks. Instead, they hacked at the uprights that held together the cradles. As the uprights were smashed, the cradles groaned and then collapsed—and log after flaming log rolled free, tumbling faster and faster down the slope and crushing and burning anything in its path.

Now Legolas gave a signal to his archers, and the Elves marched forward, releasing arrow after arrow, bringing down the Orcs who had escaped being crushed and burned by the trees. At last only a few Orcs remained alive, and those were scrambling away as fast as they were able. Legolas commanded his archers to hold their fire. "Allow that handful to escape," he ordered shrewdly, "for they shall scurry back to their fellows and sow panic amongst them with tales of how their large army was devastated by a joint force of Elves and Dwarves. Let us make haste to follow in their wake to take advantage of the fear and confusion that result!"

The Elves vaulted onto their horses, and the Dwarves scrambled up behind them. This time even Legolas bore a Dwarf behind him, and so intent was he upon the battle that he scarcely noticed the burden. The allies allowed the surviving Orcs to reach the goblin lines and then, as the shouts of terror and panic arose, the Elves urged their horses into a gallop. Thundering toward their enemies, the allies were astonished and gratified to see the Orc lines break entirely. This was more than even Legolas had hoped for! Moreover, the besieged Dwarves, their lookouts having seen the approaching 'relief column' and the resulting chaos amongst their foes, now flung open the gates of the Lonely Mountain and they and their allies, the Men of Dale, poured forth to join the battle. Witless with dread, bewildered Orcs ran hither and thither like termites whose queen had been plucked from their mound. It was an easy matter to bring them down. The Dwarves and Men from the Lonely Mountain, joined by the Dwarves who now dismounted from elven horses, stalked their prey on foot, and the Elves rode after any of the faster fugitives who seemed likely to escape the field of battle altogether. Not one Orc is known to have escaped the catastrophe, and no ally, neither Elf nor Dwarf nor Man, fell that day, although several were known to have been injured.

Among these latter was Tathar who, in close combat, had discovered that, yes, Orcs, unlike trees, do swing back. His opponent's blow had been deflected somewhat, but Tathar had still been left with a broken arm. Now Legolas knelt before him anxiously, demanding that Tathar allow him to dress his arm.

"Legolas, 'tis only a broken arm, and not so different from the injury I suffered when I miscalculated an angle whilst cutting a tree so that the tree fell upon me instead of away from me."

"Yes, but once that tree had fallen, I wager it did not get up and strike you again, as that Orc tried to do!"

Tathar laughed. "True. A fallen tree is a felled tree."

Legolas groaned. "Oooh, such a cutting wit."

"Of course! Who else but a carpenter should have a cutting wit—or be a cutting wit, for that matter?"

"You bend words to your will at least as well as you bend staves!"

"Of course, for is not a stave as much as to say a line of poetry, that is, words?"

Legolas raised his hands into the air.

"I yield! I yield! I will go find someone else needs binding, preferably a Dwarf who will, by definition, be a smaller wit than you are."

"A hit! A hit! A palpable hit!" Tathar shouted cheerfully after his friend's retreating figure. At that moment, he saw a Dwarf of distinguished appearance approaching, and, rightly guessing that it was King Dáin, he struggled to his feet. The King spoke to him before he could speak, however.

"Master Elf, you have been pointed out to me as one of two Elves to whom we owe this victory. It is said that you are a great warrior."

Tathar bowed.

"I thank you, my Lord, but I am in fact no warrior at all."

"Surely such an assertion is gainsaid by the Orc bodies that I am told lie smoldering upon a hill hard by this place."

"Those bodies only prove that I am an excellent carpenter, my Lord."

"Carpenter!?"

"Aye, a carpenter, my Lord."

"But my people say that you wield an axe in such a fashion as would put some Dwarves to shame!"

Tathar could not help but grin at hearing these words in the mouth of the King Under The Mountain.

"My Lord, I beg that you tell Prince Legolas what you have just said."

"That is the least of the rewards you shall receive from me, Master Elf. I hope you have a sturdy packhorse, for it shall be laden with gold! But you mention Prince Legolas. He is the other Elf to whom I am indebted. Where may I find him?"

"He is somewhere hereabouts tending to the wounded."

King Dáin regarded him gravely.

"Ah, a true commander he is, for once the victory has been secured, he looks first to his soldiers. He was journeying to this land in order to conclude trade negotiations, was he not?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"He shall have generous terms. Tell him I say that."

"Such words will certainly deprive the negotiations of much of their interest, my Lord. Are you sure you want me to tell him this?"

"On this occasion I do not mind revealing my hand to Prince Legolas, for the only thing I wish to grasp in it is his own hand in friendship."

Tathar bowed.

"You are very gracious, my Lord."

"And you as well, Master Elf."

"Carpenter."

"Your pardon?"

"I am a Master Carpenter."

King Dáin laughed.

"Very well, Master Carpenter, although I do not know whether to commission you to cut trees or hew Orcs!"

"Whatever needs felling, my Lord."

The King smiled and moved on. It is said that in after years not a stick of furniture stood in the King's presence chamber unless it were crafted by Tathar, Master Carpenter of the Kingdom of Greenwood, or one of his descendants. And long after the last Elf had sailed from the Grey Havens, in the west there was no greater praise that could be bestowed upon something fashioned in wood than to say, 'hewn like one o' Tathar's Orcs, that is'!


	30. A Fleeting Reunion

**_Dragonfly:_ Yes, the Elves and Dwarves did work together, so, even though Legolas still has no love for Dwarves, we can be fairly hopeful that, when the time comes, he will be able to at least cope with a certain Dwarf until such time as respect and affection replace dislike and suspicion.**

**_Kelly Kragen: _When I was a teenager, a neighbor, who was a lawyer, used to try to persuade me to become one as well.  Once, after I had made a very convincing argument as to why I should _not_ become a lawyer, he complimented me on my logic and persuasiveness—but, he went on to add, that just proved that I ought to be a lawyer!  Talk about a Catch 22!**

**_Joee_****_: _I think Tathar deserves his own series.  What do you think?**

**_Lomiothiel_****_: _You're catching up with me!**

**Beta reader: _Dragonfly_, who this time caught omitted words and a nasty continuity problem.  _Joee_ is no doubt disappointed because _Dragonfly_ leaves nothing for anyone else to catch!  (Now I've probably called down the evil eye on _Dragonfly_, who will miss something next time, which _Joee_ will promptly pounce on with a triumphant Ah hah!  Sorry, _Dragonfly_.  )**

**Chapter 30: A Fleeting Reunion**

Tawarmaenas strode smiling into Thranduil's private chamber, where the King sat sharing the usual evening glass of wine with Gilglîr.

"Ah," exclaimed Thranduil cheerfully at the sight of him, "now it will not be so quiet and dull in the Great Hall."

The Seneschal pretended to be distressed, but then he too broke into a smile.

"Mae govannen, Tawarmaenas.  Shall we be momentarily expecting outraged pursuers from Esgaroth, or did you not have a good time?"

"We had an excellent time.  We were very well entertained, and Legolas felt that the final terms of the trade agreement were fair and advantageous to all parties."

"Well," retorted Thranduil, "as long as they were fair and advantageous to _us_."

"Now, Thranduil," chided Gilglîr, "you know that in the long run strong alliances are bred only by agreements that treat all parties justly."

"Yes, yes, I know," conceded Thranduil, "as does my son, too, apparently."

"Legolas," Tawarmaenas put in, "has sent you a letter, uncle."

Thranduil beamed.  "As good and dutiful a son as he is a negotiator."

Smiling, he accepted the letter from Tawarmaenas.  Breaking the seal, he began to read it but had hardly perused the first line when he gasped and dropped his wine glass, which shattered, the red wine pooling upon the flagstones.

"Uncle," cried Tawarmaenas, "what is the matter!?"

Gilglîr knelt by the chair of his friend.

"Thranduil!  What ails you!?"

Unable to speak, Thranduil handed Gilglîr the letter.  The Seneschal paled as he read it.  When he had finished, he jumped to his feet.

"Thranduil, I shall at once lead a force to Lake-town and from thence to the Lonely Mountain."

Thranduil found his voice.

"No, you will remain here with Tawarmaenas.  I shall myself lead the warriors."

"But, Thranduil, is it wise for both the King and the Prince—"

Thranduil raised his hand to silence him.

"Gilglîr, if Legolas should die, then Tawarmaenas is the guarantor of the future of this realm, and he will ascend at once to the throne.  For even if I were to survive the death of my son, I swear to you that I would depart for the Undying Lands because never more would I find joy in Middle Earth. Gilglîr, I shall return either with my son or not at all.  Look to it!"

With that, Thranduil strode from the chamber, leaving behind a friend and a nephew who were both ashen-faced.  "Gilglîr," whispered Tawarmaenas, "what was in the letter?"

"As we speak," said Gilglîr somberly, "your cousin without a doubt battles Orcs who would destroy this kingdom could they reach its borders—but Legolas would give his life rather than let that happen.  May the Valar protect such courage!"

Thranduil rode within the very hour, not even waiting for dawn.  Such warriors as could be summoned on short notice rode with him, and Gilglîr promised that others, as many as could be assembled, would be sent after.  Although not a great horseman, Thranduil had never been unkind to his mounts, but on this occasion it must be confessed that he pushed the horses hard as he and his companions galloped alongside the banks of the Forest River.  Not even barrel-riders could have made better speed, and in a remarkably short time the Elves were galloping along the shores of the Long Lake.

King Bain had known that Thranduil would ride to Lake-town as soon as he received Legolas' message, and sentinels watched for his arrival.  As soon as the elven troop was spotted, word of their approach was carried to King Bain, who hastened out to greet them.

"He is safe," cried King Bain as soon as Thranduil was in hearing.  "He is safe!"  This was a greeting lacking in decorum, but Bain was not going to stand on ceremony because he feared that Thranduil would do him an injury if he did not at once assure him that his son was well.

"I have just received a letter," Bain continued in a rush, "and in it Legolas reports that all have survived the battle and that a great massacre of Orcs has taken place and that King Dáin is very grateful and that they have been showered with praise and gifts and that Dáin has offered them most favorable terms."  As you can see, by now Bain was babbling, but, as Thranduil had not yet spoken, Bain was anxiously filling up the silence.  Truth be told, Thranduil was once again incapable of speech, but this time from joy.  At last he managed to utter something, but it was the nonsensical sort of thing that a parent will blurt out when he has just been put in dreadful fear for the life of his child.

"When I get my hands on that youngling, I—I—I shall throttle him!"

Bain broke into a smile, for he knew that the crisis was now over.  Thranduil carried on for several more minutes, itemizing how he would wreak this or that penalty upon his son, and then at last he leaned weakly against his horse, burying his face in its mane.

"Come, Thranduil," said Bain kindly, "both you and your horse are sweating.  My groom will look to your steed, and you must come with me to my Hall, where you may bathe and change your clothes and then join me in a quiet meal followed by a glass of wine drunk over a leisurely conversation."

"Two glasses, if you please," joked Thranduil faintly.  "Or mayhap three or four!"

"Ah, but you must keep your wits about you, for your son will return shortly, perchance even as early as tomorrow.  He did not want to linger at the Lonely Mountain.  Apparently he has no great love for Dwarves!  Although I must say that he showed an admirable ability to ally himself with them when the need arose.  That bodes well for his future, for a leader cannot afford to indulge his prejudices."

"I am merely glad that he _has_ a future," said Thranduil wryly.

"Yes, if you do not wring his neck," retorted Bain, smiling broadly now.  Together the two monarchs strolled into the King's Hall, and Thranduil was soon soaking his sore limbs—if he had not spared his horse, neither had he spared himself!

Meanwhile, Legolas had also not been sparing himself.  He was indeed hastening back to Lake-town, but not for any dislike of Dwarves.  Amongst the carcasses of Orcs had been discovered the body of a Man.  This was very likely the spy, Legolas knew, and the corpse bore a ring that was all too familiar to Legolas, for he had seen many like it suspended on chains round the necks of the traitor Elves who had attempted to murder him.  This news he had been afraid to commit to writing, for he knew it was altogether likely that the second spy bore an identical ring.  If his letter should go astray and not reach the hands of King Bain, it was possible that this second man would get wind of the discovery.  If he did, no doubt he would flee or at the very least hide the ring so that he could not be unmasked.  If that were to happen, they might never learn the full details of their enemies' plans or the number and names of the Men who had turned traitor, if indeed there were any other than the two spies.

Unfortunately, even though Legolas had kept secret the discovery of the ring, it was inevitable that the traitor concealed in Lake-town should hear of the complete and utter defeat of the Orc army.  The night that the news arrived, a figure swathed in a cloak crept through the deserted streets, keeping to the shadows.  Once at the lakefront, he stole to the end of a pier and tossed a glittering object into the water.  Then he drew forth a vial and unstoppered it.  His master had told him that, were he in danger of being captured and questioned, he should drink the potion within and his memory would be wiped clean.  "Yea," his master had assured him, "even should you be tortured, your answers will bespeak your innocence."  The Man greedily tossed back the potion and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  He belched and smirked.  "Pretty tasty for a potion," he chortled.  Then he took one step toward land.  It was his last step.  Suddenly he clutched at his throat and fell forward, his face contorted in agony.  He writhed about upon the dock, and his struggles took him to the very edge.  Rolling off the dock, with a small splash the conspirator disappeared into the lake.  Later King Bain noticed that one of his lesser advisors had disappeared, and he suspected that this had been the spy.  His suspicions, however, could never be proven.

At the moment, though, Legolas cherished hopes that the spy could be uncovered and the details of the conspiracy laid bare.  On he rode, circling round the Long Lake rather than waiting for boats to ferry him and his companions.  As the rays of the rising sun reached out and touched the ends of the wharfs at Lake-town, he galloped into the town and drew up before the King's Hall.  Dismounting from his horse, he placed a foot upon the lowest step, but before he could ascend the stairs, the doors were flung open and his father came flying down in a most undignified fashion, seizing his son in his arms and crushing him to his chest.

"Ooooph, Ada, I cannot breathe," gasped Legolas.

King Bain had followed his father down the steps, albeit in a more stately manner.

"Better this," Bain called to Legolas, "than that he should throttle you, as he has been threatening to do."

Thranduil laughed and stepped back, although he still kept his hands upon his son's shoulders.

"Whate'er possessed you to run headlong into danger?" he scolded.  "But we will talk of that later.  You must be hungry and tired.  Come inside.  I am going to indulge myself by sitting and watching you eat a hearty breakfast."

"Will you not eat something yourself?"

"No, I mean to feast my eyes upon the sight of my child!  That will be sustenance enough."

In fact, both Thranduil and Legolas enjoyed a very good breakfast, which they took privately, as King Bain knew they would want to have time together.  Later they joined King Bain and Prince Brand in the King's private chamber to discuss the late events.  Legolas told them of the discovery of the ring, which he drew forth.  King Bain took it in his hand and studied it thoughtfully.

"It is a plain ring, with no devices," he observed.

"Have you seen such a ring on the hand of any Man hereabouts?" asked Legolas.

Bain shook his head.

"It is hardly the sort of thing that I would have noticed.  You, Brand?"

His son likewise shook his head.

"What is to be done with it?" asked Thranduil, "for it seems to me that this ring may be a peril to anyone who comes near it.  Others may be tempted to bear it, with untoward consequences."

"I think," said Legolas, "that it ought to be sent to join the jewels that adorn the bones of Smaug the Worm.  There let it lie until the world's end."

That very day Legolas himself paddled out to the spot where rested the dragon's bones.  Shivering in the cool breeze that blew across the lake, he leaned over the gunnel and allowed the ring to slip from his palm.  Over and over it tumbled as it sank deep in the water, coming to rest at last under the claw of the dragon.  Legolas was well satisfied, for he knew that no one would dare descend to wrest the bauble from the grip of the great worm.

While Legolas had been rapidly galloping toward Lake-town, Gandalf had been riding at a more leisurely pace in search of the Imladris Elves.  At last his quest was rewarded as he spied upon the horizon a line of riders slowly proceeding toward him.  He squinted into the sun, trying to descry them.

"Surely those are Elves," he muttered to himself, "but the most disreputable Elves I have every seen in all my years in Middle Earth."

Gandalf spoke the truth.  Their garments having dried, the Elves had donned them, but in several cases, the clothes were so tattered that the wearers were little better than naked.  Gandalf struggled to keep a straight countenance as he rode toward them.  He drew up alongside Elrond and pretended not to notice that the Lord of Imladris was clad only in leggings and boots.

"Mae govannen, Elrond."

"Mae govannen, Mithrandir."

"Fine weather we are having."

"Yes, Mithrandir, the weather is fine—now."

"A little warm, perhaps—but you look very comfortable, garbed as you are."

"Say it, Mithrandir."

"Say what, Elrond?"

"That I am dressed in an unusual fashion for an Elf."

"Indeed, that is not true."

"You think not?"

"Aye—for it would be stretching the truth to say that you are dressed at all!"

"Hah.  Hah."

"Yes, I thought it a witty reply."

"There have been times," Elrond reminded him, "when you have been dressed little better."

"I cannot deny it," smiled Gandalf.  "And in memory of those times, I would like to lend you my cloak.  I shall do very well in my leggings and surcoat."

"I will not turn down your offer," Elrond answered, smiling in turn.

"And," continued Gandalf, "in recompense for all those times that I have eaten at your board, I should like to provide you with provisions, for, although Elves be thin, they generally do not look as if the next breeze will carry them off, as do the members of your company!"

Elves, wizard, and boy dismounted, and Gandalf's packhorses were unladed.  Truly the Rohirrim had been generous!  The stars above Rohan looked down upon a mighty feast that night and such laughter and singing as the Imladris Elves had not given voice to for many a day.

The next morning, however, Gandalf and Elrond turned to the serious matter of the events that had transpired over the past several weeks.  Gandalf of course knew nothing of the attempt to assassinate Legolas, and he was very concerned to hear of the rings that the traitor Elves had borne.

"So the rings apportioned to your company were stolen away during the second skirmish," he mused.  "'Tis plain that their maker does not want them to fall into our hands.  But several were saved, you say, those that were taken by the Mirkwood Elves to the Great Hall."

"Yes," said Elrond, "and sometime no doubt you will want to examine them to learn whatsoe'er you may of their devising and powers."

"Not 'sometime'," said Gandalf briskly.  "At once!  I had hoped to return with you to Rivendell, but 'tis plain I must ride at once for Mirkwood, and then on to Lothlórien to seek counsel from the Lady Galadriel."

"Mithrandir," exclaimed Elrond, "you stood on the brink of death not so long ago, and now again you would ride merrily off into the maw of danger."

"Not merrily, surely."

"'Tis a figure of speech, Mithrandir, as you well know!"

"Well, well, I do not travel into lands any worse than the ones you will pass through.  You will encounter Orcs and Trolls enough on your way home."

"Indeed we will not.  We do not plan to undertake the passage through the Misty Mountains.  Instead, we will make for the Gap of Rohan and so journey north through Dunland and Eregion.  The denizens of Dunland will not venture to accost us, and we fear no danger in Hollin."

"Ah, when you reach the Gap of Rohan you will be quite near to Isengard.  Could I trouble you to carry a message from me to Saruman?  He should be told of these late happenings, for rings are an especial study of his."

"True," said Elrond thoughtfully.  "But," he resumed briskly, "would it not be better if you visited him yourself, after you have been to Mirkwood and Lórien and have something to report?  I can tell him nothing other than the fact that the rings exist.  I am sorry to be so ungracious, but truly, Mithrandir, I have been so long from my land that I do not wish to turn aside to Isengard unless the errand be pressing."

"I understand," replied Gandalf, "and you are right: knowing as little as we do, it would be premature to go to Saruman for counsel.  I have often observed that one must first have knowledge in order to seek knowledge.  It is perhaps a paradox, but the less one knows, the less one is capable of formulating the necessary questions in order to remedy one's ignorance.  Those most in need of enlightenment are therefore the least likely to get it."

"Spoken like a true wizard," jested Elrond, "for whom paradoxes and riddles are no less needful than the air he breathes!"

The next morning the wizard parted from his friends, leaving with them the packhorses and the better part of the Rohirrim provisions.

"So, Elrond," said Glorfindel as they watched the wizard and his mount dwindle into the distance, "what was that you said about _making_ him come to Rivendell and rest?"

"Ah," replied Elrond ruefully, "I suppose one cannot _make_ a wizard do anything.  The advantage is all his, after all, knowing as he does spells and enchantments."

"But you are a master of herb-lore.  You could have slipped something into his drink."

"No, Glorfindel.  Did you notice how carefully he guarded his flask?"

"Yes, it was well-nigh an obsession of his.  He didn't use to be so wary.  Do you suppose someone has lately tried to poison him?"

"No doubt."  Elrond sighed.  "The day will come when the waters in the rivers and the very air we breathe will be tainted by devices of our enemy.  Small wonder that Mithrandir no longer trusts to drink freely even in the company of his friends."

"Do you suppose," said Glorfindel hopefully, "that Mithrandir's attitude may grow to encompass pipeweed?  I should very much like to see him become wary of _that_!"

Elrond smiled and shook his head.

"I fail to see how that noxious weed could be rendered anymore poisonous than it is."

With that, the two Elves returned to their company, whose members were soon mounted and riding toward the west—toward home.


	31. A Strange Alliance

**Thanks to the following for their encouragement: _Joee__, Rinny Leonhart, Dragonfly,_ and _Kelly Kragen_.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_!**

**Chapter 31: A Strange Alliance**

With great caution, Gandalf was riding parallel to the western border of Southern Mirkwood.  It was true that the Dark Lord had been driven from the fortress of Dol Guldur, but over the years since that time evil had crept back into the southern forest.  Spiders driven from Northern Mirkwood by Thranduil's folk took refuge there, and Orcs had crossed over from their strongholds in the Misty Mountains and burrowed beneath the roots of the trees.  Wargs, too, roamed within the shadows.  The Orcs would throw rocks at the spiders, and the spiders would devour any Orc unfortunate enough to blunder into their webs, but let a lone Man or Elf wander into their territory, and Orc, spider, and warg would forget their antipathy one for the other in order to join together in savaging the intruder.  Afterward they might quarrel over the carcass, but that would be of no consolation to the victim!  No, Gandalf had no wish to enter the forest of Southern Mirkwood unless he traveled as part of a company of Elves or Rangers.  Still, he did not want to journey too far out of his way, so he was careful to stay within sight of the forest.

As he kept a wary eye upon the westernmost fringe of trees, he noticed that a smallish creature was crawling about not far from its shadow.  He reined his horse to a halt and peered intently toward the skulking creature.

"Oh, no," he groaned aloud.  "Not you, my friend!"

The wizard pondered what to do.  On the one hand, he was anxious to examine the mysterious rings that were being safeguarded in Thranduil's Great Hall.  He also had no desire to abandon his current safe course, for no doubt the skulking creature would shortly take shelter in the perilous forest, having merely ventured out in search of the nests of ground-dwelling birds, easy prey for such as he was.  On the other hand, Gandalf knew that he could never be sure when next he would encounter the creature.  Should he not seize upon this opportunity to resume his quest to capture and question him?

As the wizard considered, the creature turned and crept back toward the forest, eggs clutched in his hands and yolk dripping from his mouth.  Gandalf sighed and dismounted from his horse.  Removing his small bag of necessities and slinging it over his shoulder, he bade his horse make for the settlement of Beorn the Shape-changer.  "You will be well-entertained there," the wizard told the steed.  "Do pass on my greetings to Beorn and tell him that I look forward to sojourning with him for a time whensoe'er my labors permit."

Off trotted the horse, leaving behind a dejected wizard who slipped warily into the darkness beneath the drooping and silent limbs of the trees of Southern Mirkwood.

"This creature is as slimy as a slug," grumbled the wizard as he picked out the trail.  Soon, though, he had more reason to complain, for the slime trail climbed up the trunk of a tree.  Gandalf stood underneath the tree peering into the canopy.  "Would that the Valar had given me the shape of a young Man rather than an old one," he complained.  "It is good that I gave Elrond my cloak, for it would only be in my way now."

Securing his staff in his belt, Gandalf climbed painfully up the tree trunk and inched out onto a limb, clinging to it with both hands and legs.  Suddenly he yelped and lifted one hand from the branch.  Strings of egg white stretched from his hand to the branch.

"Most undignified situation," grumbled Gandalf, scraping his hand along the bark in an attempt, only partially successful, to remove the egg white.  "A Maia doesn't belong in a tree.  What _was_ I thinking!?"

The wizard carefully backed down the tree trunk.  Once again taking his staff in his hand, he stood pondering for a moment.

"I should give o'er the attempt," he said to himself, "for I cannot leap from tree to tree as an Elf may.  I will return to the plain.  Perchance my horse has not gone far.  If I hasten, I may be able to recall him and so not be forced to walk all the way to the Great Hall."

Before he could stir from the spot, however, a sudden disturbance broke out nearby.  Birds screeched and flew about frantically near their nests.

"Oh ho," chortled Gandalf, "methinks the egg-thief is not satisfied with his winnings and means to raid additional nests."

Quietly Gandalf crept in the direction of the din.  Yes, the birds were certainly all aflutter over yonder, darting in and out of the branches of one tree in particular.  Gandalf stole to the trunk of a nearby tree, hiding behind it to keep watch.  His vigilance was soon rewarded.  Here came the creature slinking down the tree, one arm cradling several eggs against his body.

"Too easy," gloated the wizard.  "Won't even need to use my staff.  Good thing, too, because in such close quarters, it may redound upon me."  Gandalf remembered from his younger days as a Maia how painful it was to be hit by a blast from one's own staff.  "Been petard-hoisted again today?' his comrades would chortle as he was carried, wan and writhing, from the training field. But that had been millennia ago.  He had done nothing like that recently.  He returned his attention to the task at hand.

The creature had reached the base of the tree and was slinking away from it in the direction of Gandalf's hiding place.  The wizard waited until he was abreast of him and then leaped out, with his free hand seizing the creature's wrist.

"You and I will now have a conversation, sirrah!" Gandalf exclaimed triumphantly.

Of course, no one, not even a wizard, should indulge himself in gloating.  Gollum at once seized Gandalf's other hand, the one holding the staff, and drew it to his mouth.  Then he bit down hard upon Gandalf's own wrist.  The wizard gasped in pain.  Dropping his staff, he brought his now-free hand to Gollum's neck in an effort to throttle him sufficiently to force him to withdraw his teeth.

Back and forth the two struggled.  At length, nigh strangled, Gollum ceased gnawing upon Gandalf's wrist, but Gandalf did not dare to let go of his throat, for the snarling creature then lunged for the wizard's face, his sharp teeth snapping shut a few scant inches from Gandalf's nose.  At the same time Gollum used his free hand to claw at the wizard's eyes.  Gandalf began to be sorry that he had not relied upon his staff, as perilous as such a strategy may have been.  In hindsight, he thought it would have been preferable to have his eyebrows singed off by a misdirected spell than his nose bitten clean away by a rabid termagant.

At length, Gandalf managed to get one hand around both the creature's thin but wiry wrists, with the other hand maintaining his grip on Gollum's throat.  But the creature was no means quelled.  He was facing Gandalf and now brought both feet up and commenced kicking him in the belly and groin.  Tears sprang into the wizard's eyes.  This was both an unprecedented and a painful state of affairs.  Now he wished with renewed fervor that he had indeed relied upon his staff.

"It had better have been that staff than this one," he gasped through the pain.  "Now it is certain I will never have any little wizards of my own!"

More than a little frantic, Gandalf finally managed to turn Gollum about so that the creature was facing away from him.  Gollum then began to pound his heels against the wizard's legs; however, painful as this was, it was not nearly as bad as the alternative.

Panting heavily, Gandalf staggered this way and that and at last backed into some object that arrested his motion.  He stood quietly a moment, catching his breath, and then stepped forward.  He had scarcely taken two steps before his movement was again arrested.  Indeed, he felt as if he were being pulled back a bit.  He tried to step to either side, with the same results.  He craned his neck to look over his shoulder.  Ugh!  He had backed into a spider web.  With his hands full of a wriggling, snarling Gollum, he wondered how he was to extricate himself from this predicament.  With an effort, he swung Gollum around to the side and cast him into the net so that he, too, was now stuck in its silken strands.  "At least," he thought with satisfaction, "I can safely let go my hold on Gollum, rest my arms, and think what to do."

Unfortunately, the time allowed for meditation proved to be brief.  Attracted by the ruckus, two Orcs were on the prowl and now burst through the trees, staring with delight at the scene before them.

"Summertime an' the livin' is easy," chortled one, more poetic than most Orcs.

"Let's start wi' the littler un," said the other.  "To whet the ap-pe-tite, like.  Speakin' o' whettin', I'll just sharpen me blade."

He drew forth his knife, but his companion cuffed him on the head.

"Cain't eat 'im," he growled.

"Why not?" the other whined.  "Looks too stringy to be kept back for the boss's table."

"'Cause that's the Squeaker or I'm a dwarf!  He's wanted fer questionin'.  It 'ud be worth our lives if we snacked on 'im."

The hungry Orc looked downcast momentarily but recovered quickly.

"There's t'other one, then—and he's the bigger o' the two!"

'Ain't ye never paid no mind to orders?"

"Orders.  Wot orders?"

"Standin' orders to bring in all wizards.  And ain't 'e a wizard?"

"I dunno.  Is 'e?"

"Look'ee 'ere.  Old man.  Long beard.  Staff over yonder.  Pointed hat.  Shows up outter nowhere.  Now if that ain't a wizard, I don' know wot!"

"No cloak," said his companion stubbornly.

"Wot?"

"No cloak.  'E ain't got no cloak.  Boss says 'e's gotter 'ave a cloak or a long, flowin' robe.  Ain't got neither.  So kin we eat 'im now?"

Gandalf thought he'd better put in a word, for he certainly did have an interest in being taken prisoner rather than devoured by Orcs.  As a prisoner, he could, he reminded himself, always try to escape later, but his legs once having been stewed, such a course of action would be closed to him.

"Your pardon, gentlemen, but you might ask me about the matter.  I am sure I could satisfy your curiosity."

"Huh?" chorused the Orcs.

"Ask me about myself," said Gandalf impatiently.

"Oh, to be sure.  Be ye a wizard?"

"I am indeed a wizard," Gandalf replied.

"But ye ain't got no cloak nor robe!" insisted the skeptical Orc.

"Nevertheless, I am a wizard."

"Kin ye prove it?" challenged the doubtful one.

"I can.  Hand me my staff, if you please."

The Orc eagerly reached toward the staff, but his companion whacked his hand with the flat of his sword.

"Idiot.  If 'e's a wizard, ye don' wanter be given 'im 'is staff!"

This Orc had some sense, Gandalf decided.

"But," whined the more stupid of the two Orcs, "how'er we to know if'n 'e's a wizard?"

"Oh, we know now," snarled his companion.  "It's proved.  'E wouldna wanted 'is staff if 'e warn't."

Yes, thought Gandalf ruefully, this one definitely had some sense.

The argument having been settled, the two Orcs turned their attention to securing their prisoners.  First they slashed Gollum free from the web.  He put up a good fight even against two hulking Orcs, but they still succeeded in tying his hands behind him and binding his feet.  For good measure they gagged him, for the Orcs discovered the sharpness of Gollum's teeth as quickly as Gandalf had.

Having trussed up Gollum, the Orcs now turned their attention to Gandalf.  They cut him free from the web, threw him face down on the ground, sat on his back, drew his arms behind him, and tied them painfully tight.  Once he had been so secured, the hungry Orc, perhaps resentful that he had been deprived of a hearty meal, kicked Gandalf in the legs.  The other Orc, however, promptly kicked _him_.

"Don't beat 'im about the legs, ye maggot!  Not unless ye want ter be the one ter carry 'im."

Gandalf was relieved that at least he was to be left the use of his legs.  Any hopes that the wizard had of giving his captors the slip were immediately dashed, however.  The cleverer Orc reached down and seized hold of his surcoat, hauling him to his feet.  Taking a length of rope, he tied one end around Gandalf's neck and gripped the other end tightly.

"For all yer a wizard," the Orc growled, "don' try to be clever.  If ye even _think_ of runnin' off, I'll give yuh a kink in yer neck wot'll have ye lookin' backwards 'till the end of yer days.  Of course," he added, cackling, "that won't be sich a lengthy spell, now, will it?"

As for Gollum, apparently his weight was viewed to be negligible, for the other Orc tossed him casually over his shoulder with one arm and gripped Gandalf's staff with the other.  And so off they marched, the cleverer Orc in the front leading Gandalf by the rope round his neck, and the other Orc bringing up the rear.

It soon became apparent to Gandalf that they were heading toward Dol Guldur.  Even though the Dark Lord had been driven from that fortress, several years after the victory, a large band of Orcs had fallen upon its elven guards and retaken the tower.  Many Elves now stood guard on the border between Northern and Southern Mirkwood to prevent any Orcish forays northward from Dol Guldur, but it had not been worth the risk to try to win back the tower.  Now Gandalf began to believe that such neglect had been a serious mistake.  So many Orcs swarmed out from the tower as they approached that for a moment he feared that the Dark Lord had once again taken up residence in Dol Guldur and that he was to be dragged before him.  Suddenly he wished he had furnished his Orc captors with dinner, as that undoubtedly would have been a far less painful way to go.  Moreover, by dying in that fashion, he would not have revealed any important information to Sauron.

The Dark Lord had not, however, returned to Dol Guldur, and the prisoners were merely to be taken to a chamber where they would be held, Gandalf gathered from snatches of grunted conversation between his captors, until such time as they could be transported to Mordor.

The Orcs dragged their prisoners up several flights of stairs and then kicked open to door to a dusty room whose floor was littered with cracked and shattered bones.  Gandalf did not care to think of whose bones they may have been or the manner in which their owners may have met their death.  And he _certainly_ didn't want to think what had happened to the bodies after their owners had died.

The Orcs dumped Gollum unceremoniously upon the floor, and Gandalf felt for him as his skull cracked upon the flagstones.

"You had better remove that gag from the creature's mouth," he said to their captors, "for he looks more than a little faint.  Your master will not be pleased should he perish."

That latter consideration worked on the minds of the Orcs, for they knew their master would indeed be angry should the creature die before he could be properly 'questioned'.  On that score, and not for any more sentimental reason, they grudgingly yanked the gag from Gollum's mouth, leaving him gasping and blinking.

Having dealt with Gollum, the Orcs once again turned their attention to the wizard.  His staff was carelessly tossed onto the center of a greasy table that looked as if it had been used as a butcher's block, and he himself was pushed down to the floor.  It no longer being necessary that he should be able to walk, his ankles, like Gollum's, were now tightly bound.  After satisfying themselves that both his ankles and his wrists were well secured, the Orcs swaggered out the door, shouting insults and obscenities over their shoulders as they went.

Once the heavy door had clanged shut behind them, Gandalf at once set about trying to escape.  It seemed to him that he only tool available to help him effect his escape was his fellow traveler, and he wasted no time in appealing to him.

"Gollum," said Gandalf, "if you will help me, I will help you."

The creature stared suspiciously at the wizard from beneath its heavily-lidded eyes.

"Helps us, it says, Precioussss.  Helps us to our death, it will, yessss, Precious!"

"No," Gandalf assured him.  "I have no wish to hurt you.  I swear upon my staff that I will help you to escape if you will help me."

"No handses, no feets.  Can't help," said Gollum with a sort of resigned cheerfulness.

"It is true that you are bound hand and foot, as am I.  But you have your teeth, which are uncommonly sharp, even if few in number.  If you gnaw through the ropes that secure my hands, I will be able to untie you."

"Gnaw, gnaw, gnaw, raw, raw, raw, maw, maw, maw," chanted Gollum mournfully.  The creature stared speculatively at the wizard, and Gandalf began to feel quite uncomfortable about the throat.  Gollum, as always, looked famished.

"Gollum," he said, somewhat desperately, "there are a great many tasty things to eat in the forest.  Don't you want to return to the forest?"

"Tasty, yesss," hissed Gollum.  "Babiessss."

Gandalf devoutly hoped that Gollum meant baby animals.

Gollum licked his lips.  "Yesss, baby Orcses there isss, Preciousss."

Gandalf had lifted his head from the floor, and now in relief he let it thunk down upon the flagstones.

"Yes," the wizard said eagerly.  "Baby Orcs.  Tender and tasty!  Mmmm."

"Won't share with it," said Gollum hastily.  "No, we won't, will we, Precious!"

Gandalf hastened to reassure him.

"Gollum, I swear to you that I will never eat an Orc.  They do not agree with me at all!"

"Swearsss, does it, Precioussss.  Won't eat no Orcses.  But p'raps it's tricksy, yesss, Precious.  Didn't say it wouldn't eat no babiesss, it didn't."

"Gollum, I will eat no Orc, not the grown ones, not the babies.  But if you will free my hands, I will free you in return, and then you can eat as many baby Orcs as you wish!"

The creature considered for several more minutes, hissing and mumbling to himself.  Then suddenly he began to writhe and wriggle his way toward the wizard, who held his breath, for until the last minute he could not be sure of Gollum's intentions.  Thankfully, the creature ignored Gandalf's throat and wiggled about until his teeth could grip the bonds securing the wizard's hands.  Gandalf had to suppress as a shudder as he felt the creature's clammy breath and sharp teeth upon his skin.  Gollum had strong jaws from decades of chewing raw food, and within minutes the wizard's hands were free.  Wincing, he sat up, rubbing the feeling back into his hands.

"Will it keepsss its promise, Precious?  Will it?" hissed Gollum.

"I will indeed," retorted Gandalf, who knew he had nothing to gain and much to lose if he left Gollum in the hands of the Orcs.  Although his fingers were still stiff, he laboriously undid the knots that secured Gollum's bonds.  Then each prisoner turned his attention to the cords that tied his feet.  Soon both were entirely free of their bonds.  In a trice, Gollum was out the window, and Gandalf knew that, lizard-like, the creature would crawl down the tower and scuttle away into the surrounding woods.

"Now how am I to get out?" the wizard muttered.  The wizard picked up his staff and stole to the door.  Locked.  He could use his staff to burst it asunder, but even if he did there was still the matter of the hundreds of Orcs who stood between him and safety.  They would hear the explosive crack of the disintegrating door and come swarming up the stairs.   Even if he got by them, they would pursue him every step of the way to the Great Hall.  Somehow he needed to contrive to slip out in some fashion as would not attract attention.  He required a head start and time to cover his tracks.

Gandalf walked to the window and gazed down.  The chamber in which he was held was about thirty feet from the ground.  Not as bad as being in an uttermost chamber, but too far to jump.  Gandalf removed both his surcoat and his tunic and commenced to tear these garments into strips with which he fashioned a rope.  Once finished, he secured the rope to the heaviest piece of furniture in the room and paid it out the window.  Still ten feet short.

"I suppose," mused Gandalf, "I could tear up my leggings, but I think the drop is now manageable.  I don't fancy running about Mirkwood altogether in the altogether.  If I should die, I would like to do so with both my boots and my pants on."

With that, he slipped his staff into his belt, took hold of the rope, and carefully let himself down.  When he reached the end of the rope, he dangled from it so that he was as near the ground as possible.  Then he let go, bending at the knees so he would not hit stiff-legged.

He did not fare all that badly.  When he landed, his left ankle twisted under him, and a sharp pain shot up his leg, but as he examined it, he was convinced that it was a sprain and not a break.

"It shall hobble and slow me, but it will bear some weight, enough for me to limp onward."

Groaning a little, Gandalf used his staff to lever himself up, and then he limped for all he was worth toward the shelter of the trees.  He had succeeded in escaping unnoticed from Dol Guldur.  He hoped that his Orc captors would be most negligent and allow hours to pass before they checked on their captives.

As he moved painfully on, it began to drizzle.

"Good!" he exclaimed with a surge of relief.  The Orcs were poor trackers, but they did have wargs that might nose out his trail.  The rain, however, would make their task more difficult.

The rain fell harder and harder.  Gandalf allowed himself to hope that any and all trace of his going would be washed clean away.  For once the weather was in his favor.

Unknown to Gandalf, however, he was already being followed.  Sharp eyes had watched his descent from the tower, and now the owner of those eyes fell into step behind him, always keeping himself hidden but never permitting the wizard to draw too far ahead.  And thus on and on the wizard limped, shadowed each and every step of the way.


	32. A Return To Roots

**_Lomiothiel_****_:_ OK. Here's another chapter!**

**_Kelly Kragen:_ Yes, if Gandalf had gotten his hand on the staff, it would have been a _very_ short chapter.  Occasionally someone will wonder why one of Tolkien's eagles couldn't have carried the One Ring to Mount Doom and saved everyone a great deal of trouble.  Well, _that_ wouldn't have been very exciting, would it!?**

**_Dragonfly: _Oh, goody!  Caught you by surprise!  Mwahaha.**

**_Grumpy: _You mean Thranduil still _has_ hair?  He must be the only one!**

**_Joee_****_: _Yes, both a tetanus and rabies shot would be a good idea.  Also one for malaria, yellow fever, encephalitis, Lyme disease, and West Nile Virus.  Basically every available immunization.**

**Chapter 32: A Return To Roots**

As Gandalf struggled north through the dense forest, he was relieved to discover that he had been correct about his ankle: it was not broken, and the sprain was not in fact even as serious as he had first feared.  It was painful and slowed him somewhat, but he was making what he considered to be good time.  After awhile, the rain let up, and Gandalf hopped and limped onward in tolerably good spirits.

Meanwhile, back at the tower, his Orc captors had decided that they had better feed their prisoners, as they wanted to deliver them alive to their master.  Bearing strips of dried meat and crusts of bread, they stomped up the stairs and flung open the door to the chamber.  They gawked as they stared about the deserted chamber.

"They ain't here," said the stupider of the two Orcs.

"I kin see that," snarled his companion.

"They went out the window," the first Orc continued.

This unnecessary statement earned him a blow to his head.

"I kin see that, too, maggot-brain!  Now come on!  We gotter chase after 'em and catch'em, er it'll be our 'eads."

The Orc was, of course, speaking quite literally.

The two Orcs stomped back the stairs to rouse other Orcs for the hunt.

"Ain't no good searchin'" whined the first one they collared.  "It's bin rainin' hard.  Not even a warg'll be able to pick up the trail."

"It cain't rain fer ever," snarled the cleverer Orc, shaking the other by the tunic, 'collared', of course, also being literal.

"That don' signify nothin'," his victim snarled back.  "Trail starts 'ere; trail's washed out 'ere."

"I've et' worms smarter'n ye," sneered the cleverer Orc.  "The wizard'll 'ead north t'run t'the Elves wot live there.  So we 'ead north.  Stops rainin' by and by, the wargs'll pick up 'is trail."

In short order a large rabble of Orcs and wargs set out for the north.  The goblins grumbled as they marched, but the cleverer Orc kept a whip handy with which to answer all objections.  Faster and faster the Orcs scurried, trampling everything in their path.

Gandalf, although moving slowly, had not stopped to rest, and at length he judged that he was nearing Northern Mirkwood.  "Ah," he sighed, "soon I'll be in southernmost portion of Thranduil's realm.  No doubt there will be patrols thereabouts, and in a trice I will be mounted and riding in comfort to the Great Hall."

At that very moment howls arose from near at hand.

"Wargs!" exclaimed Gandalf.  "Was there ever a wizard with worse luck!?  Even with two good legs, I couldn't hope to outrun them.  Well, up this tree I must go, although that likely won't keep them from smelling me out.  There's nothing for it but to use my staff, even if by doing so I bring all the spiders and Orcs within hearing down upon me."

Gandalf pulled himself laboriously into the tree, and, although he feared that concealment would do no good, he did his best to stay out of sight.  Shortly thereafter the wargs loped into view, making, Gandalf thought, straight for his hiding place.  He got a good grip on his staff and ran over various spells in his mind.

As the wizard waited tensely in the tree, the lead warg suddenly came to a halt and broke afresh into howls. His fellows gathered around excitedly and joined in the fell chorus.  Then, to the amazement and dismay of Gandalf, a bush midway between his hiding place and the wargs rustled, and out crept Gollum.

"The wretch has been following me," Gandalf thought despairingly, "and he will lead the wargs to me.  No doubt the Orcs have promised that for his services he is no longer to be hunted."

The wargs growled at the sight of Gollum, and their hackles rose.  Baring their yellow teeth, they began to slink in the creature's direction.  Gollum held his ground, and before the wargs could reach him, their Orc masters arrived on the scene.

"Good fortune, boys!" yelled one.  "It's the Squeaker!  We'll get 'im back, anyway.  Let's don' let the wargs savage 'im or he'll be worth naught to us."

As the Orc spoke, Gollum sprang into motion, scuttling at great speed back under cover.  The Orcs yelled commands to the wargs in Black Speech, and, snouts to the ground, the wargs loped off in the direction that Gollum had taken, their masters at their heels.  Behind them they left one very shaken but likewise very relieved wizard.

"So," mused the Istar, "Gollum was not after all in cahoots with the Orcs.  He must have been following me for his own ends.  No doubt he had hopes that he might catch me unawares and so murder me, for surely he must tire of Orc flesh.  I'm certain I'd be tough and stringy, but I would like to fancy I'd taste better than an Orc!  Well, well, lucky for me he harbored such a foul design, for he has managed to decoy the wargs and the Orcs away from me."

Carefully, Gandalf climbed down from his tree to resume his trek toward Northern Mirkwood.  Meanwhile, Gollum was leading his pursuers on the proverbial merry chase.  Slithering up trees and across branches, scuttling through clearings, from time to time he would pause as if deliberately waiting until the wargs had very nearly caught up with him.  Then, as they were on the verge of reaching him, he would spring away again, having tantalized the beasts with the sight and smell of him.  Since his trail thereby remained fresh, the wargs did not tire of the hunt. 

He muttered to himself as he led the wargs and Orcs through the forest.

"Keeps its promise, it does, yesss, Precioussss.  Unties the nasty ropeses, it does, Preciousssss."

Again and again the creature mumbled these broken phrases, seemingly fascinated at the idea that the wizard had kept his pledge to loose the bonds that had held Gollum.  Hunched on a branch, waiting for the wargs to catch up again, he chanted the words over and over.

"Keeps its promise, it does, yesss, Precioussss.  Unties the nasty ropeses, it does, Preciousssss."

Gollum kept up this dangerous game into the evening and throughout the entire night.  In the morning, it was the Orcs, exhausted in their attempts to keep up with the wargs, who put a halt to the exercise.  Footsore and tired, they grumbled their way back to Dol Guldur.  At least they had the consolation of eating well when they reached the tower, for of course heads rolled (yes, literally, of course—how could it have been otherwise?).  The boss ordered the prompt execution of the two Orcs who had captured Gollum and Gandalf but failed to keep their prisoners from giving them the slip, and the remaining Orcs eagerly dressed the bodies, although not for the purpose of any funeral rites, you may be sure!  Thus the two Orcs served their cause well, even if not in the manner they had intended.  

By this time, Gandalf had crossed the border into Northern Mirkwood and was making good progress toward the Great Hall.  As he walked, he began to hear the sound of axes, faint at first, but growing louder with every step he took.

"Woodcutters," he thought to himself.  "Hopefully elven."

He crept toward the sound as quietly as he was able.  At last he came to one of the areas where many trees had been felled in the late dreadful storm.  A party of Elves was cutting up and hauling away the trees under the supervision of an Elf whom the others addressed as 'Master carpenter'.   This Elf was young for one of the Fair Folk, about the same age as Legolas, Gandalf thought to himself.  Suddenly the young Elf addressed himself to the thicket in which the wizard was hiding.

"You had better come out of there.  A partially felled tree leans precariously over that thicket, and it may come down at any time."

Gandalf glanced up and saw that above him there was indeed a tree teetering on the verge of falling.  Hastily, he crawled out from his refuge.  The Elf looked him over appraisingly.

"You are a wizard, are you not?"

"I am," replied Gandalf, pleased that even in his disheveled, not to mention half-naked, state, the Elf was still able to recognize him for what he was.

The Elf grinned.

"Then I am, of course, enchanted to meet you."

"Enchanted, eh?" replied Gandalf, smiling in return.  Then he studied the Elf intently.

"You look somewhat familiar.  Have I enchanted you before?"

"I do not believe so," the Elf replied.  "I am Tathar."

"And I am Mithrandir."

"Mithrandir?  I have heard of you.  My pardon, but you do not look quite as I expected."

"Orcs," said Gandalf wryly, "have that effect upon one's person."

"You are injured, are you not?"

"A sore ankle, nothing worse."

"Nevertheless, you must take my horse."

The young Elf gave instructions to the woodcutters and then went to fetch his horse.  When he returned, he offered Gandalf a cloak from his saddlebag, and Gandalf accepted it very gladly.  Tathar helped him to mount the horse, and then, walking alongside, the Elf commenced to guide him to the Great Hall.

"Would you mind if we stopped briefly at a cottage," Tathar asked after a time.  "It lies but a little way off our path, and I have an errand there in fulfillment of a promise I have made to a friend."

"Then by all means let us stop," exclaimed Gandalf.  "I would not inconvenience you any more than I already have."

"A holiday from supervising a band of laborers is hardly an inconvenience," laughed Tathar.  "There was little skill involved in standing about whilst already felled trees were hacked into manageable lengths.  The designing and fashioning of furniture from the resulting lumber, now that is more to my liking.  But, look, we are here."

They had entered a clearing in which stood a small cottage.

"I know this place," said Gandalf in surprise.  "I have been here before."

"Have you?"

"Yes, about a millennia ago.  Legolas spent the first few years of his life here, in company with Edwen Nana, who cared for him and one other, a little red-haired—oh ho!"

Gandalf broke off and gazed at Tathar.

"You are that very elfling, are you not?"

"I am!"

"Well, well, Middle Earth is a small world after all," smiled Gandalf.

With Tathar's aid, Gandalf dismounted the horse, and then Tathar lifted the door latch.  Elf and wizard stepped inside.  A thick layer of dust covered everything, for nothing had been disturbed since Edwen Nana had been summoned to the Great Hall to help in the aftermath of the battle for Dol Guldur.  A tiny bow stood in the corner, and next to it stood an equally tiny quiver filled with arrows that, although small, were sharp.  Tathar crossed over to these objects and picked them up.

"I have been asked to retrieve these and one other object."

The Elf went to the wardrobe, and, lifting aside tiny and neatly folded tunics and leggings, he drew forth a book.  Opening it, he showed Gandalf the colorful pictures of animals and plants with their accompanying descriptions.

"Legolas learned to read from this book, and then he taught me."

"So it is Legolas who asked that you fetch these things."

"Yes.  He was reflecting one day upon the years he spent in the clearing, and he spoke longingly of his little bow and his very first book.  So I said I would go round to the cottage the very next time I was in this neck of the woods."

"Legolas was lucky in his beginnings," said Gandalf thoughtfully.

"Yes," agreed Tathar, "in an odd sort of way, I suppose he was.  Although some would say that losing one's mother and being rejected by one's father would not, at first glance, seem to be fortunate events."

"Yet everything happened for a reason," Gandalf mused.  "Legolas has learned the languages, developed the skills, and formed the friendships that will allow him to fulfill his mission here in Arda.  If things had turned out otherwise, these things would not have come to pass."

"His mission?"

"Oh, do not ask me about that," said Gandalf briskly, "for I do not yet know what it shall be.  I am only certain that, whatever it is, he has been preparing for it."

"As I divined earlier," smiled Tathar, "you are indeed a wizard!  For only a wizard would speak so enigmatically."

"Hah!  You have never met the Lady of Lothlórien.  Do not speak of enigmas until you have spoken with her!"

With that the two turned and left the cottage.  Neither was ever to return.


	33. Sweet Dreams

**Edwen Nana does get into this chapter, but she behaves herself.  I think all naughty Edwen Nana episodes will be placed in "Hair Raising Adventures," which is rated 'R'.  This story will not exceed 'PG-13'.**

**_Tyrian_**** _Woodrose_: Thank you!  As long as people are still interested in reading the stories, I'll keep posting them.**

**_Dragonfly: _Ah hah!  Plot twist caught you by surprise!  Mwah hah hah.  Have a good time during your vacation.  The beach, right?  Good for you!**

**_Joee_****_: _Yes, once again Gandalf slips from the grip of his foes.  Huzzah!  Huzzah!  Huzzah!**

**_Kelly Kragen: _Yes, I think Gollum does deserve our pity.  You know the phrase: There but for the grace of God go I.**

**Beta'd**** by _Dragonfly_, who is going on vacation next week.  Heads up, Joee!**

**Chapter 33: Sweet Dreams**

Gandalf had been resting several days at the Great Hall.  In spite of the wizard's eagerness to examine the mysterious rings, Thranduil had insisted that the Istar take to his bed to spare his ankle.

"Furthermore, you are too skinny," the elven king declared.  "Don't those Imladris Elves feed you?"

"Why is everyone trying to make me eat?" fumed Gandalf.  "You'd think you were all Orcs trying to fatten me up!"

Thranduil was unmoved.

"I am going to set Edwen Nana to nursing you.  She'll see that you convalesce properly."

"Not Edwen Nana!" cried Gandalf.  "Please, I beg of you!  Have mercy upon a sick Man!"

"It is because you are a sick Man that I will send her to you," retorted Thranduil.

"Oh, just hand me over to wargs, why don't you!  For she will surely chew me up and spit me out!"

"Really, Mithrandir, Edwen Nana is naught but a kindly elleth.  Why do you object to her waiting upon you?"

"Because she will cut my hair whilst I sleep—aye, and trim my beard as well!"

"And if she does," teased Thranduil, "you will be able to see all the better—aye, and to eat the more conveniently as well, for your spoon shall be able to find its way to your mouth!  Perhaps that is why you are so skinny—your food becomes trapped in your beard!"

"Thranduil, if I promise to clean my plate at each meal, will you spare me Edwen Nana's ministrations?"

"Very well, Mithrandir.  I will not send for her, but I can't guarantee that she won't take it upon herself to look in on you."

"I shall place a sealing charm upon the door," Gandalf fervently declared.

"Oh, I shouldn't if I were you," chuckled Thranduil.  "I understand that your spell backfired the last time you tried that and that as a result you were trapped in your room for several hours."

"Pray do not remind me of that," groaned Gandalf.  "I have never been so mortified."

A knock sounded upon the door.  Gandalf looked apprehensive, but relaxed when his latest visitor proved to be Legolas.

"Mithrandir, I hear that you are confined to quarters and so I have come to sit with you."

"Hannon le, Legolas!  You are very welcome!"

"I will leave you now," Thranduil smiled.  "Legolas, Mithrandir's plate must be clean upon my return.  See to it!"

Legolas pulled a chair over to the bed and settled himself upon it.  He cast a mirthful eye upon Gandalf's plate.

"That venison is very good, Mithrandir.  I must confess that I was very vexed that there was only enough for one slice apiece."

"I am indeed very sorry to hear that!  I wouldn't mind if you had a bite of my portion, for it is surely more than required for the sustenance of an old Man."

"Why, thank you, Mithrandir.  I believe I _will_ have a bite."

Of course, after Legolas had eaten one bite, Gandalf urged him to take a second, and a third.  Soon the venison had vanished.  Once again Legolas eyed Mithrandir's plate.

"That is a most excellent dish of mushrooms."

"True," agreed Gandalf, "but I am surfeited upon mushrooms, for whenever I visit the Shire, they are proffered to me at nearly every meal."

"'Twould be a pity to waste them," observed Legolas.

"Indeed it would!  You must have some, Legolas."

"Why, thank you, Mithrandir.  I believe I shall."

The mushrooms having been disposed of, Legolas commented in succession upon the soup, the bread, the salad, and the pastry; and Gandalf—so generous a host!—encouraged him to partake of these dishes as well.  At last, nothing remaining upon the plate, Legolas sighed in contentment and leaned back upon his chair.  At that moment, someone knocked upon the door.  At Gandalf's 'Enter', Thranduil strode into the room, and in his wake swept the dread Edwen Nana, who confidently expected that Gandalf would need nursing.  Both gazed upon the empty plate with surprise.

Said Thranduil, "I had not believed it possible that Mithrandir would be able to summon any appetite.  It seems I was wrong, and he does not after all need the services of a nurse."

"You told me to see to it," said Legolas, "and I did.  If it would be permitted, I will take all my meals with Mithrandir until he has fully recovered."

Edwen Nana studied the young Elf suspiciously, but Thranduil willingly agreed to Legolas' request.

"However will you manage?" Mithrandir asked Legolas after Thranduil and Edwen Nana had departed.  "Now two plates will be brought to my chamber, one for you and one for me.  You surely don't plan on cleaning _both_ plates.  If you do, you will very shortly be as fat as Bombur the Dwarf!"

"Oh," Legolas reassured him, "I will ask Tathar to join us but will neglect to tell my father that.  Between the three of us, we ought to be able to polish off two plates—but you must promise to eat _something_ each meal.  My father is right; you look poorly."

"Legolas, over the past several months, I have been kidnapped by a Ringwraith, stabbed by an Orc, nearly dined upon by crows, bitten by Gollum, trapped in a spider web, captured by Orcs, and hunted by wargs.  I have managed to sprain my ankle, and I almost died of thirst, hunger, and exposure.  Oh, and did I mention that I was very nearly poisoned?  You really can't expect me to look my best!"

"Of course," Legolas teased, "your 'best' was never very prepossessing to begin with."

"Insolent youth!' rejoined Mithrandir, smiling.  "You should not speak so to your elder!"

"But, Mithrandir, you have never told me your age.  Is it not possible that _I_ am _your_ elder?"

"Whatever our actual ages, I am old for a Man and you are young for an Elf; therefore, in relative terms, I am your elder, and courtesy requires that you address me as such."

"Very well, old Man," said Legolas, arising, "and as you are so ancient, I will leave you to take your rest.  Outside the sun is setting, and the very old amongst Men retire with it."

"No, no," Gandalf exclaimed hastily, "stay a little longer.  I wish to question you about the two attempts upon your person, for from the little that I have already heard, it seems to me that something very dark was at work.  You must tell me everything you remember, everything you noticed."

Gandalf began by questioning Legolas about the first attempt, the one that took place within the realm of Greenwood itself.  Thrice Gandalf guided the young Elf through the tale, stopping him frequently to question him about particulars.

"You were unable, then, to question a single one of the traitors?" Gandalf said at last.

"True.  By the time Gilglîr had returned to the scene of the skirmish, all had been slain by Orcs during the second assault.  According to what Gilglîr was told by Elrond and Glorfindel, the murder of the conspirators must have been the goal of this second attack, for the Orcs fled once all had been butchered."

"'Twould make sense to slay the surviving conspirators if there were still a traitor hidden within the realm or even in the Great Hall itself.  It would be necessary to protect his identity.  And yet," mused Gandalf, "you say that no evidence was ever found that hinted even slightly at the existence of such a traitor."

"True as well.  I questioned Dûredhel's nephew quite carefully and at great length.  I do not think there is another turncoat concealed within this kingdom."

"I will want to question him myself, of course, but your conclusion no doubt will prove to be correct.  Perhaps the conspirators were slain not to protect a fellow-traitor but to prevent us from learning about the devices of the Enemy.  These rings, now, I am very anxious to examine them.  Why will Thranduil not allow them to be brought to my chamber?"

"My father wishes them to be handled as little as possible, for he suspects them to have great corrupting influence.  At least one such ring figured in the plot to seize me whilst I visited in Erebor."

"Ah, yes, the adventure from which you have but lately returned.  I would hear of that as well."

Legolas launched into an account of this second conspiracy, and Gandalf questioned him as thoroughly as he had in the first instance.  At last, satisfied, the wizard nodded and leaned back upon his pillows.

"You have done well, Greenleaf.  Tathar, too.  The Valar made a wise decision when they decided to return him to Edwen Nana so that he might grow up to stand by your side."

"Pardon?"

"Granted," replied Gandalf, ignoring the confused expression upon Legolas' face.

"You do not mean to explain your last comment, then?"

"When do I ever explain myself?" said Gandalf airily.

Legolas made a wry face and then arose to his feet.

"If this interrogation is at an end, I should leave you.  No doubt Edwen Nana will be by soon to make sure that you go to bed at a decent hour."

Gandalf groaned.

"That elleth could whip a troop of Orcs into shape."

"An interesting idea, that," said Legolas.  "Perhaps we should unleash her upon a few goblins.  They will at least die clean, if not happy."

Gandalf chuckled and drew up his covers slightly.

"Pray blow out the candles before you leave."

Legolas obliged and slipped from the room, quietly closing the door behind him.  Gandalf rested for awhile with his eyes closed, but he was unable to sleep.  He had much to think about.  As he lay in his bed, he realized that the door was being eased open.  He suppressed a smile and lay quite still.  A figure glided over and drew the covers up under the wizard's chin and then gently plumped his pillows.  Before slipping away, the figure brushed several stray hairs from the Istar's face.

Gandalf allowed a smile to spread across his face once he was alone again.

"Hmmm," he murmured as he drifted toward slumber, "under the feathers of that fierce hawk beats the heart of a nightingale."

Gandalf slept well and deeply that night, and his dreams were pleasant ones.


	34. Pitfalls

**Thanks to _Kelly Kragen_ for reviewing and _Dragonfly_ for serving as beta reader.**

**Chapter 34: Pitfalls**

Holding a torch in one hand and a sword in another, Gilglîr led Gandalf into the depths of the Great Hall.

"Here we are," he said at last, drawing forth a large key.  "Thranduil's Treasury."

The Seneschal unlocked the massive lock, and the door screeched upon its rusty hinges as he pushed it open.

"I'm sorry," he apologized to the wizard, "but the Treasury is little frequented, especially now that the rings are stored within.  The hinges have not been oiled in a very long time, and I'm afraid you will find the room dusty."

"I have heard far worse sounds than the screech of unoiled hinges, and I do not fear dust."

Elf and wizard entered the chamber, which was nearly bare, save for a few chests.  Gandalf looked about with great interest.

"Thranduil's wealth used to be fabled," he commented.

"True, but after the battle for Dol Guldur, he parted with much of it in order to care for the injured and the families of the slain.  Now he puts aside as much treasure as he believes necessary for the needs of his people, but he does not accumulate gold and jewels for the mere sake of amassing a huge heap that, dragon-like, he can perch upon and gloat over."

Gandalf nodded approvingly.

"I never did see the sense of gathering gold and jewels unless one intended to use them for something, either by trading them for goods or working them into objects of beauty that could be placed where people might see and enjoy them.  I am glad Thranduil has given over his avariciousness in favor of a more sensible approach toward these things of the world."

"I agree with you there, my friend.  Gold and jewels are mere baubles with no intrinsic worth, valuable only if they can be made use of."

Gilglîr set the torch in a bracket and then knelt before one of the chests, drawing forth another key with which he unlocked it.  Then, keeping his sword handy, he arose and went to the door to keep watch.

Gandalf knelt before the chest and lifted out a leather bundle.  Unwrapping the leather and spreading it flat, he gazed upon the mithril rings that now shimmered in the torchlight.

"They are a delight to look upon," he murmured, "but no less deadly for that—indeed, perhaps more so, for their beauty would tempt the heedless.  Thranduil is wise to keep them well hidden."

One after another he examined each ring, but he could make out no differences among them.  Each was smooth and shiny and bore no device.

"These rings are so alike," he said at last, "that I think it will be necessary for me to bear only one with me to Lothlórien.  If one should reveal its secret to the Lady Galadriel, that will suffice, for I deem that the secret of one shall be the secret of all."

"And what of these others?"

"In the end they should be destroyed, but not yet, for we do not know the method by which that should be accomplished.  It may be that they can simply be melted down with no danger, but it is possible that doing so may release forces that will be injurious to those nearby.  It depends on the strength and character of the spell.  For now, let them remain locked in this chest within Thranduil's Treasury."

"It shall be as you wish, Mithrandir.  You will be leaving soon for Lothlórien?"

"Yes.  Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin have been visiting these past several weeks and must shortly return to their duties.  I will ride with them.  I shall take Legolas, too.  Tawarmaenas went to Lórien to extend the invitation to Haldir and his brothers, and it seems fitting that Legolas be the one to have the pleasure of the return journey."

"Hah!" exclaimed Gilglîr, "Thranduil is not likely to see it that way!  Do not count on Legolas accompanying you.  Especially not after these two attempts on his person."

"Pah!  Two attempts—that's nothing!  Let me see, now, these last few months alone, that would be one, two, three, four—"

"Stop bragging," Gilglîr chided the wizard.  "Besides, you don't want to remind Thranduil how often your foes have tried to do away with you.  Thranduil is not likely to want his son to ride by the side of someone who draws swords and arrow points toward him the way the lodestone draws iron."

Gandalf could not help but laugh.

"True, Gilglîr.  I shall have to downplay my recent near escapes.  Pity.  I thought I acquitted myself admirably during several episodes and was looking forward to telling the tale."

Elf and Istar returned to the upper levels of the Great Hall, and Gandalf waited for his opportunity to talk with Thranduil.  His chance came after dinner, when Thranduil and a small party of friends retired to the King's private chamber.  Gandalf patiently bided his time as the Elves drank wine, told tales, and sang songs.  Gandalf was, of course, very careful to tell only the most innocuous tales of his own doings.

By and by, each Elf excused himself, and Gandalf was left alone with Thranduil.  With great tact, he broached the subject of the journey to Lothlórien.

"Thranduil, has Gilglîr mentioned to you that I mean to depart soon?  I will carry one of the rings to Lothlórien in order to seek the advice of the Lady Galadriel.  From there I shall journey on to Isengard, for Saruman, too, I intend to consult.  Such rings are, after all, a special study of his."

"Your plan of action is a wise one, my friend.  Would you like an escort?"

"Yes.  I had planned to ride with Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin.  Legolas should go as well, for the matter concerns him most nearly."

Leaning back comfortably in his chair, Thranduil had been idly turning the stem of a goblet within his hands.   Now he sat bolt upright and banged the goblet down upon the table.  Fortunately, it was made of metal, else it would have shattered.

"Legolas!?  Absolutely not!"

"Why ever not?" asked Gandalf calmly.

"He may be murdered!"

"He may be murdered within the corridors of the Great Hall itself—indeed, it becomes the likelier if we do not solve the riddle of these rings."

"Oh, by all means solve the riddle, but without exposing Legolas to further danger."

"Thranduil, the more you try to shield Legolas from evil, the more unprepared you and he will be to face it when it does come—as it surely will.  Consider the recent designs against your kingdom.  Had Legolas been kept bottled up within these walls, you would have had little warning of your peril.  As it was, Legolas was admirably placed to thwart the conspiracy.  Rather than bemoaning the fact that he went into battle, you should be glad that he did.  He would have had to fight eventually if your foes had reached the border of your realm, but perhaps under far less favorable circumstances."

"But, Mithrandir, I shudder to think what could have befallen him on that journey."

"For my part, I shudder to think what would have befallen him and your kingdom both had he _not_ been on that journey.  Had Legolas and Tathar not traveled to Lake-town and from thence to the Lonely Mountain, your enemies would have swept through Erebor unopposed and would have fallen upon an utterly unprepared Esgaroth.  From thence they would have marched upon your realm, and things would have gone ill for your people.  You must acknowledge that your eastern border was but lightly protected, for you did not expect danger from that direction.  The blow would have been a hard one, and be sure that you would have been forced to venture not only your son's life but those of many others.  You may thank the Valar that your son journeyed forth beyond these borders!"

Thranduil could not refute the logic of Gandalf's argument, but no parent is required to be logical when the safety of his child is in question.

"What you say may be true," he conceded.  "Nevertheless," he went on stubbornly, "it was mere happenstance that things turned out as they did.  The next time Legolas may not be so fortunate."

"You speak of 'happenstance'," returned the wizard.  "Whatever makes you believe that it was happenstance and not the will of the Valar?"

"And whatever makes you think it wasn't?" retorted Thranduil.

"The outcome," replied the Istar calmly.  "A crushing defeat of the forces of evil is just the sort of outcome that would have been pleasing to the Valar.  I am here at their behest, I hope you remember."

"Pulling rank, are we?" grumbled Thranduil.

"What say," Mithrandir replied genially, "that we ask Gilglîr and Legolas to join this discussion?  Let us assay their opinions on the matter."

"As if you didn't already know!" scoffed Thranduil, but he smiled a little.  In his heart of hearts, he knew that, sooner or later, Legolas would journey for a time with Mithrandir.  At least if he went now, he would ride in the company of Haldir and his brothers and an escort of Greenwood Elves.  And, he told himself, it would only be to Lothlórien.  Messengers traveled back and forth between the two realms frequently, and they rarely encountered trouble.  Part of the way their path would take them through Beorn's realm, and they would be especially safe in those lands.  Only a very foolish Orc would venture onto the plains patrolled by Beorn's horses, and he would not live to grow wise.

"I suppose," Thranduil at last said slowly, "that I can no more stop Legolas from riding with you than I could hold back the waters of the Anduin.  But be sure he comes back safe or you shall be left holding only one staff!"

"Goodness!  Have you been taking lessons from Edwen Nana in the art of punning!?"

"No, but if anything happens to Legolas, you'd better hope you don't fall into _her_ hands."

"Oh, to be sure," Gandalf replied, shuddering.  "I'd rather face a balrog than an angry Edwen Nana.  A balrog I may survive!"

While this conversation was taking place, a similar one was underway in Rivendell.  Elrond was pacing back and forth in his private chamber, watched by an amused but also concerned Glorfindel.

"Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir have traveled back and forth between Lothlórien and Imladris many times.  Why so fearful?"

"Dangers seem to multiply daily."

"You exaggerate."

"Fine.  Dangers multiply weekly."

"You still exaggerate."

"Monthly!"

"Elrond, I will concede that dangers multiply but only annually.   Moreover, your sons are wise and skillful in the art of avoiding danger, and brave and resourceful in battling it if it is unavoidable.  Messengers must continue to travel back and forth between the elven realms, and no riders are better suited than your sons to carry them."

Like Thranduil, Elrond could not deny the truth of his friend's words.

"Glorfindel, you offer, as always, a sensible assessment of the situation.  But, with your leave, I will continue to worry."

"I am sure," Glorfindel smiled, "that with or without my leave you will worry!"

"True," laughed Elrond.  "Now turn your attention to the matter of Estel's upcoming journey and see if you can reassure me as successfully as you did in the case of Elrohir and Elladan."

"Ah, nothing simpler.  Estel will be with Halbarad, whose dourness alone is sufficient to discourage most foes, and they journey only to Bree, a most inoffensive little town populated by nothing more sinister than butchers and bakers and candlestick makers."

"There was a time," Elrond reminded Glorfindel, "that Bree was not quite so free of danger, and that time may come again."

"Still, I think a Ranger will be more than equal to any risks that may currently be encountered in Bree.  And Bree is within an easy distance of the Shire.  I would be very surprised if Mithrandir did not want Estel to become acquainted with the lands thereabouts."

"Yes," agreed Elrond.  "Mithrandir's interest in the Shire grows rather than wanes.  I very much wonder what it is that draws him there so often.  Well, no doubt he will tell us in good time."

The next day, Elrond informed the would-be pilgrims that he was granting them permission to depart on their respective journeys.

"This will be the first time since Estel came to dwell with us," said Elrond meditatively, "that he has departed Rivendell without the company of kinsmen."

"_I_ am a kinsman," Halbarad said pointedly.

"Yes," allowed Elrond.  "I was thinking of his descent from Elros, my brother.  But more than that, I have stood toward him as a father, and Elladan and Elrohir as his brothers."

"Yet his kinship with Men cannot be denied, and it is that, rather than his elven blood, which shall govern his destiny.  Unlike you, he shall never depart for the Undying Lands but shall remain in Middle Earth for all time, even until the end of time. And so shall all who adhere to him."

"True," said Elrond sadly, "and so I shall be sundered from those whom I love."

To Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond said little, other than to tell them to stay well.  At the turning of the moon, he stood in front of the Great Hall to bid the travelers farewell.

Although it was out of their way, Halbarad and Estel were to travel some distance with Elrohir and Elladan, for Halbarad wished to do some reconnoitering in the Misty Mountains.

"'Twill be good for the lad to practice in the mountains," he observed to Elrond, "for oft tracking there is the most difficult, as it is hard to find traces upon the rocks."

Elrohir and Elladan had no objection to Halbarad and Estel bearing them company, for, even though the twins were mounted and the other two were not, they would be traveling through such country as could be traversed as quickly afoot as on horse.

After a week in the company of Elladan and Elrohir, Halbarad and Estel at last set off on their own, heading due west.  They had walked for several hours uneventfully when Halbarad suddenly stopped and pushed Estel back.  Even as he did so, however, the ground fell away beneath the feet of the Ranger, and he vanished from sight.

Halbarad's shove had been a powerful one, and Estel landed hard several feet away.  For a few moments, he lay breathless.  Recovering, he crawled to the edge of the hole and peered down.  A good twenty feet below, Halbarad sprawled, his right leg bent under him at an unnatural angle.  He grimaced, but did not cry out.

"Halbarad," called Estel, "are you well?"

"No," came the dispassionate reply.  "When you climb down, be sure to bring several stout, straight sticks.  My leg needs to be splinted."

Estel gathered several and then carefully picked his way down until he knelt by Halbarad's side.  Carefully he eased Halbarad's leg straight.  Tearing strips of cloth from his cloak, he carefully bound the splint to the injured leg.  As he worked, he asked Halbarad about the pit.

"What is this hole? Is it a trap dug and covered over by our foes?"

"If it is a trap, 'tis no more than a natural one.  Limestone riddles the mountains hereabouts.  Over the aeons, water seeping beneath the earth sometimes will dissolve away that limestone, leaving behind a cavity that is covered over by a mere crust of dirt that crumbles beneath the feet of any creature unfortunate enough to step upon it."

Estel sighed in relief.

"Ah, that is good, Halbarad.  I feared you had fallen into a device of our enemies."

Halbarad allowed himself the ghost of a smile.

"'Tis more substantial a pit than our foes would have troubled to dig.  My fall would have been the shorter had it been one of theirs.  On the other hand, they do tend to place sharpened and poisoned stakes in the bottom of their pits, so I suppose I should be grateful."

Estel finished his task, and Halbarad nodded at his handiwork approvingly.

"'Tis true, I think, that the hands of the king be the hands of a healer."

"What?"

"Nothing.  Gibberish uttered by a wounded warrior."

Estel shrugged and arose to his feet.

"I will help you out of this pit now."

"No, you won't," said Halbarad calmly.

"But you can't stay here!"

"Look at the walls of this hole, Estel.  It will take more than your aid to draw me forth."

Estel studied the sides of the pit thoughtfully.  He had climbed down with great difficulty.  Halbarad was right.  Estel looked down at the Ranger in dismay.  Halbarad, however, did not look troubled.

"Now is your chance to show your mettle," said Halbarad.  "Hasten back to where we parted from your foster-brothers.  Pick up their trail and catch up with them.  The three of you together will be able to effect a rescue."

Estel hesitated.

"You are not afraid, are you?" Halbarad asked.

"No, but you will be defenseless until I return.  What will you do if foes come upon you?"

"Someone shall die," Halbarad said simply.

Estel had been in Halbarad's company often enough to recognize the sardonic humor of a Ranger, and he replied in kind.

"Oh, _that's_ all right, then," he said sarcastically.  "How foolish of me to have even asked!"

"Estel," argued Halbarad, "if you leave me, I may die.  If you do not leave me, I will certainly die.  Both courses are ill ones, but the former a trifle less ill than the latter."

Estel had to reluctantly concede that Halbarad spoke the truth.  Arising to his feet and tossing his water bladder down to the Ranger, he began the laborious climb up the walls of the pit.  Once at the top, he looked down briefly and nodded at Halbarad.  Then he vanished from the side of the pit, not caring to say farewell.  Halbarad understood.

Estel had been taught well, and he had little trouble tracking his foster-brothers.  Tireless and swift, the young Ranger sped on, every now and then bending to the ground to examine a sign.  Occasionally he would lose the trail on the rocks, but he always picked it up again when the Elves and their horses returned to softer ground.

Suddenly, he realized that another set of tracks had come in from the side and overlay those of Elladan and Elrohir.

"Orcs," he gasped in dismay.  "Elladan and Elrohir no doubt will elude them and hasten on to Lothlórien once they realize they are being followed, but then they will be unable to help Halbarad.  I must reach the twins before they become aware of the Orcs."

Estel raced on until he could hear the Orcs just ahead of him.  Then he carefully stole near to ascertain their numbers.  Once sure of that, he circled around them and resumed tracking Elladan and Elrohir.  Another hour of steady running brought him to them, as Estel discovered when he rounded a corner and found himself staring at two nocked and drawn bows.  Quickly Elladan and Elrohir lowered their weapons.   

"Elladan, Elrohir," Estel gasped, "you are being tracked by Orcs!"

"How did you get here?" exclaimed Elladan.  "And where is Halbarad!?"

"Back yonder, a few hours walk from where we parted.  He is injured.  I set out to bring you to him and then saw that you were being followed by many foes.  I circled about them and so reached you."

"Well done, Estel," said Elrohir approvingly.  "Many foes you say?  So many that we cannot cut through them?"

"I think that would not be wise, for they number at least two dozen.  You may be able to charge through the band, but then the survivors would pursue you.  'Twould make it difficult to carry Halbarad to safety."

Impressed by the youth's shrewdness, Elrohir at once gave over any thought of attacking the goblins.

"Very well, Estel, we shall do as you have done.  We will circle around the Orcs.  Meanwhile, we will send our horses onward, so that the Orcs will be none the wiser."

Elrohir spoke quickly to the horses, telling them what must be done.

"Without our weight," said Elladan as he watched the horses trot around a bend in the path, "they will move swiftly toward Lórien.  The Orcs will not catch them."

"Now let us turn aside from our path," ordered Elrohir.  "Estel, can you leap onto that rock?"

"Yes, Elrohir."

"Good.  Leap from there to another rock, and so on.  We don't want to leave any traces that could be read by Orcs.  Fortunately, they are not good trackers, but let us nonetheless take care to leave at worst a few subtle markings in the lichen that would attract the attention of only a Ranger or an Elf."

Proceeding in this fashion, the two Elves and the youth skirted the Orcs and then returned to their path.  Once on it, they jogged without a break until they had reached the pit where Halbarad had been lying silently, weapons at the ready.  The Elves and the youth, elven-trained as he was, moved quietly, but Halbarad had the ears of a Ranger and heard them coming nonetheless.  "Mae govannen," he called before they had even looked over the edge of the pit.

"So, Halbarad," answered Elladan, stretching himself out by the edge of the pit and peering into it, "you seem to require rescuing."

"I do."

"Such an event is without precedent in the annals, I believe," said Elrohir, joining Elladan and surveying the situation.

"Less talk, more action," grumbled Halbarad.

Elrohir sat up.

"Elladan, I have a length of rope in my pack.  I'll climb down and secure it under his arms.  Then the two of us will be able to hoist him up, I am sure.  Estel, while we are doing that, gather the longest and straightest branches you can find.  We shall need to fashion a litter to bear him back to Rivendell."

The two Elves and the youth set about their tasks, and soon Halbarad rested comfortably on a litter borne by Elladan and Elrohir.  Estel having taken charge of all the packs, the small company moved with all possible speed in the direction of Rivendell.

While Estel and the others had been preparing to depart from Rivendell on their ill-fated journey, Legolas had of course been making his way to Lothlórien in company with Gandalf, Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin.  It had been an uneventful journey, and the Greenwood escort had been sent back from Lórien with a letter to Thranduil assuring him that all was well.  Now Legolas and the others were on a patch of greensward wrestling one with the other.  Legolas was on the verge of pinning Rúmil when the Lórien Elf shouted, "Hullo!  Elladan and Elrohir's horses!"

"No good," panted Legolas.  "I won't be distracted."  Just then a horse whinnied, and Legolas looked up.  In a trice, Rúmil had flipped and pinned him.

"It seems you _will_ be distracted," he announced casually, "and, oh, by the way, those _are_ Elladan and Elrohir's horses."

The four young Elves approached the horses, who nuzzled their necks, for they knew the Elves of old.

"These horses show no signs of having been in battle," said Legolas, "but their hearts are filled with the fear of Orcs.  We must backtrack along their trail in search of their riders."

He did not say, 'be they dead or alive', but the thought was in the mind of each.

"You will go with us, Legolas?" said Orophin.

"Of course.  Elrond and Elrohir are my brothers.  Come.  To our horses."

"Hadn't you better tell Mithrandir?" Haldir suggested.

"No.  For if I do not, Mithrandir will have nothing to explain to my father."

Haldir and his brothers saw the wisdom of this, and they hastened to their horses.  Elladan and Elrohir's steeds, weary as they were, would not remain behind, and so six horses set off toward the west.  News of their departure Haldir entrusted to one of the horse masters, who carried word to the talan of the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel.

Mithrandir at about this time was consulting the Lord and Lady over the matter of the ring that he had carried from Mirkwood.  Unfortunately, neither Elf could add anymore to what Mithrandir already knew: that the ring was imbued by evil and undoubtedly crafted by a dark force.

Frustrated, Mithrandir turned the ring over and over in his hand.  "Smooth and flawless and without a device," he murmured to himself.  "Save for being mithril, so like the hobbit's ring."

"What say you, Mithrandir?" asked Celeborn.

"Nothing, nothing!  I suppose I shall now journey on to Isengard to consult the head of my order."

"If you think you must," said Galadriel, but her voice was not very encouraging.

Before Gandalf could reply, a servant stepped forward to inform the Lord and the Lady that a horse master had brought a message from Haldir.

"Let him be admitted," instructed Celeborn.

The horse master stepped onto the flet and bowed deeply.

"My Lords and my Lady, I have been instructed by the Marchwarden Haldir to say that he and his two brothers and their guest Prince Legolas of Greenwood have departed in search of the Lords Elladan and Elrohir, whose riderless horses have but lately entered our land.  The Marchwarden Haldir fears lest some evil has befallen the two Elves.  My Lords, my Lady."

The horse master bowed again and backed respectfully away.

"Well," sighed Gandalf.  "I suppose I had better delay my trip to Isengard.  Thranduil will not be pleased to hear that Legolas has given me the slip, so I'd best hasten to catch up with him.  Would you happen to have an extra staff hereabouts, one that you could spare?"

"I suppose so," answered Celeborn.  "If not, one could quickly be fashioned.  But why?  Your own staff is resting against the back of your chair."

"True, that one is bestowed there. But Thranduil has sworn that he would leave me holding only one staff if anything happened to Legolas on this trip.  So I pray that you will have a messenger carry a spare staff to Thranduil with my compliments."

Celeborn still looked puzzled, but Galadriel had a knowing glint in her eye and a slight smile upon her lips.  As Gandalf began to descend the mallorn tree, all was silent at first, but then laughter fluttered down from on high, the light tones of Galadriel's mirth joined by the deeper tones of Celeborn's.

"Galadriel was able to explain matters, seemingly.  Well, well, glad to have provided them with an occasion for amusement.  Only hope Thranduil finds reason to laugh!"

With that, Gandalf went to retrieve his small bag of necessities and set off in pursuit of one Elf who was fated, it seems, to get into nearly as much trouble as Gandalf himself.


	35. Ambush

**_Joee: _Here is an unbetaed chapter. Do your worst!**

**_Dunadan Pirates: _Um, thanks? Is it a good thing or a bad thing that the Mole-People are coming for me?**

**_Kelly Kragen: _Yes, more mischief, to be sure. The tangled web just gets tanglier. (My spell-checker doesn't like that last word, but I do. So there!)**

**_Dragonfly: _I'm sure Edwen Nana will eventually figure out what happened to the food. In the long run, nothing can stop her. I'm seriously considering working up a situation in which she gets to whack an Orc with a frying plan, kind of like Sam in Moria. No, wait! I have a better idea. She drowns one in a bathing cauldron!**

**Chapter 35: Ambush**

Backtracking along the trail laid down by the twins' horses, Legolas and the others had ridden for several hours when Elladan and Elrohir's horses suddenly grew skittish and refused to go further. Legolas, too, sensed danger. He dismounted.

"From here we should proceed on foot. We will be the quieter."

Leaving the horses, they moved forward for another hour, and then Legolas raised his hand and signaled for them to stop.

"Our foes are near," he said softly. "I am going ahead to reconnoiter."

None gainsaid him. All knew that Legolas was far and away the best scout, and this was too serious a matter for displays of bravado. Legolas slipped away. An hour later, he returned.

"A company of Orcs marches this way. They follow the trail that we have been backtracking."

"How many?" asked Haldir.

"Two dozen, I should say," answered Legolas.

"At least six to one," said Rúmil. "Still, we have the advantage of surprise, and we will bring down several with our bows before we must engage them directly."

There was no question but that the Elves were going to attack the Orcs. Putting aside the possibility that the goblins had slain Elladan and Elrohir, they were much too close to Lothlórien for the Elves' peace of mind.

The four Elves slipped stealthily in the direction of the Orcs. When they reached their foes, the Elves split up, each going to one side of the band. When Legolas gave the agreed-upon birdcall, they unleashed a volley of arrows. In spite of Rúmil's confidence, from that point on the skirmish was, as Haldir later put it, 'interesting'. True, the Orcs briefly milled about in confusion, unsure of which way to charge. But when they swung into action, they did so with a murderous fury. Haldir and Rúmil were forced into hand-to-hand combat with four apiece, and Legolas had to contend with three. Orophin was faced only with two, but each was monstrous in both size and appearance.

"Stand still, yer worthless pointy ear," snarled one of the Orcs who sought Haldir's skin. The Elf decided that a strategic retreat was in order, and he ran around and around a thicket, the four Orcs in pursuit. As they ran, they pumped their arms up and down, inadvertently lowering their scimitars on the downswing as they did so. Haldir glanced over his shoulder as he ran. Suddenly he checked his flight, spun about, and decapitated the lead Orc, the creature's useless scimitar still clutched in its hand as the carcass toppled to the ground. The second Orc raised its weapon, but far too high, and Haldir drove his sword under the creature's guard, gutting him. The remaining two Orcs hesitated for a moment and then turned and fled. Switching to his bow, Haldir brought both down before either had taken twelve steps.

Rúmil had chosen to stand and fight, but he may have been regretting his choice by now. He had slain one Orc immediately, but the other three fought well together—veterans of several campaigns, perhaps—and denied him any openings. It was all he could do to parry their ferocious blows. Seeing his brother's peril, Haldir nocked his bow and felled one of his assailants. "That should even the odds, brother," he shouted. He knew Rúmil would be aggrieved if he brought down all three Orcs, so he wheeled about looking for Legolas and Orophin.

Legolas had dispatched two of his three opponents, but not without cost. Blood ran down the side of his face from a gash in his scalp. Haldir raised and lowered his bow several times, but the remaining Orc was on the far side of Legolas, and each time Haldir was on the verge of shooting, Legolas unwittingly dodged into the path of the arrow. Suddenly the Orc swung low, slashing Legolas' thigh, and the Elf stumbled and fell to the ground. The Orc raised his scimitar to finish him off, but now, having a clear shot, Haldir sent an arrow through the Orc's neck. The creature collapsed onto Legolas, but Haldir abandoned his friend in that safe but uncomfortable position in order to ascertain Orophin's whereabouts. Orophin had slain one of his foes and was parrying the thrusts of the second with some difficulty, but Haldir saw that Rúmil, having dispatched his two remaining enemies, was hastening to his aid. He was free to return to Legolas, and now he leapt to his side.

"Legolas," he said urgently, "are you hurt badly?"

"I suffer most grievously from the stench," gasped Legolas. "Kindly roll this creature off me!"

Haldir obliged and then dragged Legolas to a tree trunk so he could lean back against it while his wounds were dressed. Haldir freely poured water into each gash, emptying both his own and Legolas' water bladder. It was necessary not only to prevent the wounds from becoming infected but also to guard against the poison with which Orcs so often anointed their weapons. Then he quickly examined each cut.

"Both are deep enough to require stitches, Legolas. For the head wound, I am afraid I shall have to shave off some of your hair if I am to do a thorough job of it."

"I do not mind, Haldir. You know I've lost my hair often enough. At least this time I have done so for a good cause."

"Let us hope your father thinks so."

"No, let us instead hope I find an excuse to remain away from the Great Hall until my hair grows back!"

Orophin and Rúmil had now joined them. Orophin sported a nasty bruise on the side of his face but was otherwise unhurt. He went to search out a stream at which to refill the water bladders, and Rúmil kindled a fire and then went in search of a thorn bush.

Haldir washed the blade of his knife and held it in the fire. Then he began to carefully shave Legolas' scalp. After coming back with the water, Orophin settled himself down with his cloak in his lap in order to tease a long thread out from it. Rúmil returned with a handful of thorns. Carefully examining each one, he chose the longest and thinnest, and with the point of his knife, he painstakingly drilled a tiny hole. He handed the makeshift needle to Orophin, who threaded it with the fiber from his cloak.

"Is it ready, Orophin?" asked Haldir, who had just finished shaving the necessary patch of scalp.

In reply, Orophin handed Haldir the threaded needle.

"Legolas, I have a bottle of wine in my saddlebag," said Rúmil. "Would you like it?"

"Rúmil, you scamp," smiled Legolas, wincing only a little. "Always prepared for any eventuality! But, no, I think not."

Legolas let his eyes glaze over, and Haldir swiftly and neatly stitched his head wound.

"There," he said when he was finished. "Even if it does scar, I do not think it will be noticeable. His hair will cover it."

"Until the next time he loses it," joked Orophin.

"Hah hah," said Haldir dryly. "Come. Help me with his leggings. I'd like to stitch his leg wound before he comes out of his trance."

Rúmil let out a whistle as the wound was fully exposed.

"He's a lucky Elf. A little to one side, and he would never have any elflings!"

"He has too many memories of your youthful behavior to _want_ to have any elflings," gibed Orophin.

"So witty we are today," said Haldir a trifle acerbically. "Orophin, have you rethreaded the needle?"

Orophin promptly handed him the needle, and Haldir stitched the gash in Legolas' thigh as efficiently as he had stitched the head wound.

"I do believe," he said when he was finished, "that this cut, too, shall heal well, but if it leaves a scar, the leggings will cover it."

"Not always, I hope!" snickered Rúmil.

Haldir did not deign to notice the witticism.

"Help me pull his leggings back up," he ordered. "There. Now let him rest. We have much to do. We must search the bodies of our foes to see if we can find any sign that they have encountered Elladan and Elrohir. If any of the Orcs still live, do not slay them until they have been questioned!"

Leaving Legolas sleeping in the shade of the tree, Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin methodically searched the bodies of their enemies. No trace was found of Elladan and Elrohir, and in the end only one Orc was found who still breathed. The Elves tried to question him, but he had little to say.

"Rotten pointy ears," he snarled over and over again. "Rotten pointy ears! Led us inna trap, they did. N'ambush, yes, that's wot. Pointy ears led us inta'n'ambush. Rotten pointy ears—urgle urgh arrgh."

The Orc's head fell back, mouth gaping open to reveal sharp yellow teeth.

"Well," shuddered Orophin, "that wasn't a very useful conversation."

"Oh, yes, it was," said Haldir, arising to his feet and gazing at his blood-clotted hands with distaste. "Now we know that our friends are alive. The Orcs were pursuing them, for that fellow said that the 'pointy ears' led them into an ambush. _We_ certainly didn't lead them into an ambush, so it must have been the twins."

"Then why have we encountered the Orcs before encountering Elladan and Elrohir?" asked Rúmil, puzzled.

"The Orcs have missed their quarry, that is why. Either by accident or design, the Orcs have blundered past our friends. Design, I should expect. This explains why Elladan and Elrohir's horses have been separated from their riders and yet show no sign of having been in battle. I'll warrant that when we find the twins, they will tell us that they sent the horses on ahead to decoy the Orcs. Still, even though it is likely that Elladan and Elrohir are unharmed, we should not give over the search until we have found them. For one thing, they are unhorsed. Let us wash ourselves and then, as soon as Legolas is awake, let us ride forth."

Orophin looked at the body of the Orc.

"What of the slain?"

"There are only four of us," Rúmil pointed out, "and Legolas can hardly be expected to either delve or haul firewood. Besides, we have neither axes nor shovels. For now, we must perforce leave the Orcs where they have fallen."

Haldir looked troubled. 'Twas a grievous thing to profane Arda with the bodies of the slain, but it seemed that they had no other choice.

Haldir and his brothers washed themselves. Then Haldir waited at the side of Legolas while Rúmil and Orophin went back to bring up the horses. When they returned, Haldir awoke Legolas and helped him to stand. Speaking reverently in High-Elven, one by one the Elves addressed earth, air, tree, and water, apologizing for the desecration of Arda and promising to make amends at the earliest opportunity. Haldir assisted Legolas as he mounted his horse, and then, solemnly, the Elves renewed the search for their friends.

As they did so, the friends in question were plodding along with their burden of an injured Ranger. They carried him as gently as they could, diligently trying to avoid jostling him, but the ground was very uneven. It seemed to Estel, who walked alongside the litter, that Halbarad's face grew paler and more drawn with every step the Elves took, yet he did not cry out, instead biting down on his lip until at last he drew blood.

"Elladan, Elrohir," cried Estel urgently, "you must stop! Halbarad is in great pain!"

Elladan and Elrohir at once lowered the litter to the ground and knelt anxiously beside the Ranger. They had covered the Dúnadan with their cloaks and now Elladan drew them aside. At once they saw that blood had soaked through the cloth binding the splints to his leg.

"A sliver of bone must have worked its way through the flesh," said Elrohir soberly.

Carefully they unwrapped the leg and saw that what they feared was true. A jagged piece of bone protruded through the skin.

"I think it would be best if our father set this leg," said Elladan.

"Yes," agreed Elrohir, "but first we have got to get him to our father."

"Or bring father to him," suggested Elladan. "It would take us several days to carry him to Rivendell, and in any event it may not be safe to move him. But an unencumbered runner could make excellent time, and our father, once alerted, would ride swiftly to our aid."

"I will go," volunteered Estel.

Elladan opened his mouth to object, but Estel forestalled him.

"I am an excellent runner, as I proved when I fetched you and Elrohir back to Halbarad. Moreover, you and Elrohir have been carrying him for hours and are tired. I have only carried the packs, and they were not heavy, for none of us packed overmuch."

Halbarad spoke then, although his voice was stretched with pain.

"Estel is right. He will move swiftly. Immobilized as I am, and now in the open, I would be best served by you two if you would remain with weapons at the ready."

"I agree with Halbarad," said Elrohir. "We will remain to defend him; Estel will race for Rivendell."

"Is your water bladder full, Estel," asked Elladan.

"No."

"Take mine, then."

"Hannon le, gwador-nîn."

"Stay well," said Elrohir.

"And you."

With no further ceremony, Estel turned and began to run in the direction of Rivendell.


	36. Gandalf's Bane

**_Kelly Kragen: _Yes, the Orcs are very nervy, calling the Elves 'pointy ears' when they themselves have such ears. Textbook case of the 'kettle calling the pot black'.**

**_Vicki Turner: _Thank you for the encouraging review!**

**_Dragonfly: _Thanks for pointing out Haldir's, uh, identity problem. He has now been restored to himself.**

**_Joee_****_: _Let's see how much more trouble I can make for our favorite Elf. Mwahahaha.**

**Chapter 36: Gandalf's Bane**

Gandalf rode through the Misty Mountains following the same trail as Legolas and his friends. He knew he approached the scene of battle long before he came upon it, for he saw the kites soaring overhead. As he drew nearer, he pulled a corner of his cloak over his nose to ward off the stench. Anxiously he urged his shying horse onward, praying that the bodies he was about to encounter would be those of foe rather than friend. It was with great relief that he broke into the clearing and at last saw that this was the case.

"This must be the doing of Legolas and his friends," he said to himself as he surveyed the scene of carnage, "although I cannot be sure because the arrows have been retrieved. Still, who else would be capable of bringing down so many enemies at so little cost to themselves?" For Gandalf saw no sign of a funeral pyre or of a grave and thus knew that no Elves had fallen there. Still, he hunted about the site for any signs that the Elves had indeed been there.

"Oh ho," he said at last, stooping and picking up a bloody fragment of cloth. "No Orc cloth this, but a strip torn from a Lórien cloak. So they did not escape entirely unscathed. Some blood on the ground here as well. Yet the quantity is not great, and it is to be hoped that the injury was not severe. Ah," he continued, stooping to pick up a thorn from the ground, "severe enough to require stitching. But not so severe as to force them to turn back. And since they have gone on, that means they are in hopes that Elladan and Elrohir yet live. Nothing they learned here has convinced them otherwise. Good."

Gandalf stood pondering awhile. Like Haldir and the other Elves, he was distressed at the thought of leaving the dead untended, but he, too, could not bestow the bodies properly.

"I think," he said at last, "that I will continue on foot. I mislike riding in the mountains anyway and will go but little slower. I will send back my horse with tokens of this battle, and his arrival in Lothlórien will bring out some Elves to attend to these bodies."

Gandalf retrieved four scimitars and bound them upon the horse's back and then sent the steed on his way. Before resuming his own journey, he smoothed a patch of dirt and with his staff drew upon it the rune for 'G'.

"That should suffice," he said, surveying his handiwork. "And now to put some distance between me and this noisome stench!"

Gandalf strode on quite vigorously for a Man who looked to be so agéd. His heart told him that Legolas was not too far ahead.

At that very moment, Legolas was looking over his shoulder. Haldir noticed that he had been doing this repeatedly.

"What is the matter, Legolas?"

"We are being pursued."

"Orcs?" said Orophin anxiously.

"No, 'tis no Orc, but I cannot make out what it is. I cannot seem to concentrate. I—I feel a little odd."

"You _are_ odd," joked Rúmil, but in truth he did so only to disguise his fear for his friend, for it seemed to Rúmil that Legolas had been growing increasingly pale. Haldir had washed Legolas' wounds carefully, but was it possible that some Orc-poison had remained in one of them?

"Haldir," suggested Rúmil, "let us take a break. You can change the dressings on Legolas' wounds, and Orophin and I can scout the trail behind us to determine who or what follows us."

"Agreed," said Haldir. He dismounted and helped Legolas to do likewise. With concern, Haldir observed that Legolas' gait was unsteady and that he did not object when Haldir took hold of his elbow and helped him to the shade of a tree.

Rúmil and Orophin slipped back the way they had come, taking care to stay hidden. They had not gone far when they heard someone or something rustling its way through a thicket.

"Too noisy to be an Elf, surely," whispered Orophin.

"Aye, brother," agreed Rúmil grimly. "Let us split up, going to either side of this creature."

Shortly after parting from his brother, Orophin saw movement within the thicket. Yes, something grey moved there. An Orc? A wolf?

Surely the blow that Orophin had taken to the head at the hands of his Orc opponent must explain the action that he next took, for it is not characteristic of an Elf to release an arrow when not sure of his target. But that is just what Orophin now did.

"What in the name of Manwë!" bellowed an angry voice.

Orophin turned as white as the chalk downs and dropped his bow.

"Oh, no!" Orophin squeaked like a Hobbit. "I am doomed!"

Out from the thicket stalked an irate Istar, an arrow bristling in the crown of his tall hat.

"I should turn you into a Dwarf," growled the wizard. "For then you would wield an axe, a weapon that would require you to get close enough to your target to see what you are striking at!"

Truly Orophin had shrunk into himself so much that he already looked dwarf-like.

"I am so, so, so very sorry, Mithrandir!"

"Aye, and like to be sorrier before I'm done with you," huffed Gandalf.

Rúmil now joined them and hastily deflected the wizard's anger.

"Mithrandir, you can think on Orophin's punishment later. For now, we have need of your skills. Legolas is injured."

Gandalf immediately forgot the arrow that was still stuck in his hat.

"Where is he?" he demanded.

"Yonder a little ways," said Rúmil, gesturing up the trail.

"What do you stand there for? Lead me to him!"

Rúmil turned and loped back up the trail, and Gandalf strode after, sweeping past a shamefaced Orophin, who stooped to retrieve his bow and then followed the two at a safe distance.

Rúmil was careful to give voice to several bird calls as he approached the spot where they had left Haldir and Legolas. It occurred to him that Haldir might be as jumpy as Orophin had been, and, as he wore no peaked hat that would be little injured by a missile, he had no desire to be struck by an arrow!

Haldir could have broken into dance, so happy was he to see Gandalf.

"Mithrandir! How very like a wizard! You pop up at the most unexpected times and just when we need you the most!"

"Unexpected? How so? Did you truly think I would not follow after Legolas, for whose safety I stand pledged? Now stop babbling and let me see his injuries."

Legolas was now so dizzy that he lay prone, and his face had gone from pale to flushed. Gandalf quickly saw that the leg wound was clean, but that the head wound was either infected or poisoned.

"My compliments to whomever stitched this gash in Legolas' head," said Gandalf, "but the stitches shall have to come out and the wound be drained and cleaned."

"Legolas," said Rúmil anxiously, "perhaps you would like that wine now?"

"I think," said Legolas weakly, "that I will not need the wine, as I do not think I shall be awake for long." With that, he fainted, his eyes closing in a most unelvenly and alarming manner.

Haldir quickly kindled a fire while Orophin searched for a source of water and Rúmil gathered additional wood. As they worked, Gandalf stooped over Legolas and caressed his brow, murmuring words of incantation. When all was ready, the wizard washed his hands and then passed his knife through water and fire. With its point he picked out each stitch. A foul-smelling yellow liquid oozed forth, and Gandalf pressed carefully upon either side of the wound to be sure that as much as possible was forced out. Then he rinsed the wound again and again until the water ran clear.

"For now," he said at last, "let the wound be left unstitched. Let it be wrapped to keep out the dust, but only loosely."

Haldir saw to the bandaging while Gandalf washed the foulness from his hands. When all was finished, the Elves and the wizard debated what to do.

"Is it safe to move him, do you think?" worried Haldir.

"If he is moved gently, yes," opined Mithrandir. "And safer to move him to a well-guarded place where there is a great stock of healing herbs than to remain in this exposed place where few medicinal plants grow."

"Should we take him on to Imladris or return with him to Lothlórien?" said Orophin.

"Loríen and the Lady Galadriel are closer, but Elrond is acknowledged by all to be the better healer," observed Haldir.

"If we return to Lothlórien," Rúmil pointed out, "we will be abandoning Elladan and Elrohir. They may be in peril."

"We have already concluded that they are likely unharmed," said Haldir.

"But we are not certain," argued Rúmil.

"We could split up," suggested Orophin. "Rúmil and I could continue the search for Elladan and Elrohir, and Haldir and Mithrandir could return with Legolas to Lothlórien."

"In these dangerous times," said Gandalf, "no company should split up unless it is absolutely necessary. Let this fellowship be unbroken."

"What do you advise, Mithrandir?" asked Haldir.

"Lothlórien is indeed closer, but not very much so. Elrond is the better healer, and Elladan and Elrohir lie in the direction that we must take to reach Imladris. I would suggest that we make for Rivendell—and quickly. The longer we talk, the more time will pass before Legolas is placed in the hands of Elrond."

"He cannot sit his horse," declared Rúmil.

"True," agreed Mithrandir. "You have six horses. Which is the strongest?"

"Elrohir's," chorused the Lothlórien brothers. "But he is _very_ wild."

"Like his rider," added Orophin, albeit unnecessarily.

"Let me speak to him," said Gandalf. "I'll warrant he'll bear both Legolas and myself after I've had a word or two with him."

Perhaps Gandalf threatened to geld him; perhaps he merely enchanted him. For whatever reason, Elrohir's great stallion, who was reputed to be only a little less high-spirited than Glorfindel's steed, did deign to carry both Gandalf and Legolas, who, carefully wrapped in cloaks, was gently lifted before the wizard.

"I have not borne Legolas in such a fashion since he was an elfling," remarked Gandalf as he rode, his voice a trifle wistful. "It was good having the care of a youngling, even one so trying as Legolas could be on occasion."

"Why, Mithrandir, you old bachelor," teased Rúmil, "does anything prevent you from having younglings of your own?"

"I _am_ rather busy, I hope you know," retorted the wizard. "I would make a most unsatisfactory father, for I would be forever gallivanting about rescuing this kingdom and that."

"Such could be said of most fathers," Haldir said sententiously. "At least, those who are warriors and scouts. It is necessary that the mothers in those cases be very forbearing and resourceful."

"And that's another thing," continued Gandalf. "You haven't seen many female Maiar hereabouts, have you?"

"Elrond is Peredhil, for he is Half-elven," observed Orophin. "If Elf and Édan may join, is there any reason that a Maia may not bond where he will?"

"Ah, but who would have me?" rejoined Gandalf. "Think you any of your willowy, graceful ellith would want their cheeks scratched by _my_ bristly beard!?"

"Actually," said Haldir thoughtfully, "according to what Legolas has said, there is one elleth in Thranduil's Great Hall who would gladly—"

"Oh, I pray you," interrupted Gandalf, "do not go there!"

"Why not?" said Rúmil, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I understand that she is a worthy elleth who will keep you in clean cloaks."

"Aye, with a vengeance," growled Gandalf. "I'd sooner wrestle a balrog!"

Legolas stirred then.

"Balrog," he muttered. "Balrog. Mithrandir's bane."

"What's that he's saying?" asked Haldir.

"I do not know," said Gandalf. But his face was troubled.


	37. Converging Paths II

**_Farflung_****_: _Hurrah! You're back! But I have been busy in your absence. Catch me if you can!**

**_Kelly Kragen: _I do think there are hints in the LotR that Gandalf could be mirthful and even mischievous. There are certainly such hints in The Hobbit.**

**_Karri: _An upcoming chapter will take a peek back at events in the Great Hall. Thranduil will not be happy, but Gilglîr will manage things nicely.**

**_Joee_****_: _I really do need to find a name for Edwen Nana. Something along the lines of 'Hawk Mother' or 'Fierce Mother' or 'Warrior Mother', I think. Suggestions, anyone?**

**_Dragonfly: _I may try to arrange a 'chat' between Legolas and Gandalf on the subject of Edwen Nana.**

**Chapter 37: Converging Paths II**

"Four scimitars, you say," mused Celeborn.

"Aye, my Lord" said the messenger, "four scimitars bound to the back of the horse."

"Were these scimitars bloody?" asked Galadriel.

"No, my Lady. They were quite clean."

"Not bloody," Galadriel said after the messenger had departed. "These weapons felled no Elves."

"No, nor any wizard, neither. But I'll warrant there are some Orcs need burying. I will send out a company of Elves to see to it."

"And I will ride with them."

"You, Galadriel? Why? No ceremony is required at the disposal of Orc carcasses."

"Oh, I do not ride on behalf of the Orcs. But methinks my skills are needed nonetheless."

"I did not know you had looked in your mirror today."

"I have not. It needs no mirror to divine that my services may be welcome. Legolas and the others have not returned. Nor has Mithrandir, but he has sent a message of a skirmish as surely as if he had written it. It is a rare encounter that does not result in some injury to the victors as well as the defeated."

"True. Would you like me to accompany you?"

"No. In these days no elven realm should be left even briefly without a leader."

As Galadriel gathered together various herbs and nostrums, Elladan and Elrohir hovered anxiously over Halbarad, who lay patient and uncomplaining but whose pallor clearly showed that he was in great pain. His leg was now hot to the touch, and the Elves knew that it was becoming infected. Each had taken turns scouring the vicinity for athelas, but so far they had found only a few shriveled leaves. From time to time they cast their eyes hopefully in the direction of Rivendell.

"Run quickly, little brother," murmured Elladan. "Run quickly."

Estel was indeed running quickly. He refreshed himself as he ran by nibbling lembas and squirting water into his mouth. He stopped only to refill his water bladder whenever he came across a water source, for he knew he could not go on without water. He was running so fast that he bolted right past a hidden Baramagor as he crossed the border into Imladris.

"Hey, Estel," Baramagor shouted as he leaped from cover, "where are you going in such a hurry?"

"Carrying a message to Elrond," Estel called over his shoulder without breaking step.

"Can I interest you in a horse?" Baramagor hollered after him.

Estel wheeled about and charged toward Baramagor.

"Where?" he shouted as he ran.

Baramagor whistled, and his horse came out from where he had been quietly grazing. Estel raced up to him and vaulted onto his back. "Hannon le!" he shouted as he galloped off.

Baramagor shrugged as he watched him ride away.

"With that young human, everything is a matter of life and death."

The Elf settled back down to watch, little dreaming how true his words were.

Legolas still lay limply in Gandalf's arms, and though the wizard was not riding as swiftly as Estel, he had urged his horse into a pace with which he was not entirely comfortable, given the rugged terrain. Still, he was concerned that the young Elf had not yet regained consciousness.

Galadriel sat upon her horse surveying the decaying bodies of Orcs. She was the only one who could steel her nerves sufficiently so as to not need to cover her face against the stench.

"I think," she was saying calmly to the captain, who looked more than a little ill, "that the bodies are in such a state as to warrant burning rather than burying."

The captain readily agreed, for he thought to himself that the limbs of the carcasses might come away as his Elves tried to drag them into a common grave. If they burned the bodies, however, they could simply heap wood over them where they lay.

After Galadriel had seen that everything was in order, she began to ride off toward the west, along the trail followed by Gandalf and the others.

My Lady," the startled captain shouted after her, "do you not want an escort?"

"I thank you, but no," she called back calmly. "There are no Orcs hereabouts—live ones, I mean."

"Noro lim," she murmured to her horse once she was beyond the captain's sight. Soon she was flying along at a pace that would have left Celeborn terrified for her safety—no doubt the reason she had chosen to discourage him from coming in the first place.

Mounted on a fresh horse, Estel came bursting out of the stable at Rivendell, Elrond following close, his saddlebag packed with herbs and unguents. Several hours later Glorfindel departed with a large troop of riders, amongst whom were some who would serve as bearers once Halbarad had been treated by Elrond and could be moved. Erestor remained behind to give orders for the preparation of a room for the Dúnadan in the House of Healing.

Gandalf had reached level ground and now urged Elrohir's horse into a full gallop. Not for nothing was this steed one of the most admired horses in Imladris!

"I do believe," Gandalf muttered into his ear, "that you could challenge Glorfindel's horse for supremacy."

Seemingly in response, the stallion galloped even faster. The other horses, although they were not doubly burdened, began to fall off until Gandalf was several leagues ahead of his friends.

Sitting by the fire that they kept burning to warm Halbarad, who was now sweating and shivering at the same time, Elladan suddenly raised his head and listened intently.

"A horse approaches, and riding swiftly."

Elrohir stretched himself out upon the ground and pressed his ear to the earth.

"Not just any horse," he exclaimed, "_my_ horse."

"_Your _horse!" scoffed Elladan. "You cannot tell that just from listening to hoofbeats. His gait is not that distinctive!"

"I am judging," Elrohir declared loftily, "from the speed."

Suddenly he looked troubled.

"But why is he galloping this way so swiftly when we set him to decoying the Orcs in the other direction?"

The twins exchanged worried looks.

"You don't suppose," said Elladan, "that the Orcs are pursuing him this way and he is hastening to warn us?"

"It is possible," Elrohir said grimly. He arose and strung his bow. Elladan did likewise. There was really no adequate shelter in which to hide Halbarad, and if Orcs attacked in great numbers, they might be able to do little more than die in his defense. Elrohir drew Halbarad's blade and folded the Ranger's fingers around it, although he feared that it would be his lot to cut the throat of the helpless Dúnadan if he were on the verge of falling alive into the claws of Orcs.

There was one smallish thicket that stood between them and the oncoming hoofbeats, and the two Elves stood staring fixedly at it, bows at the ready.

"I think," whispered Elladan, "that your horse bears something grey upon his back."

"Yes," agreed Elrohir, "and—but what is that!?"

Gandalf broke into the open, Orophin's arrow still sticking in his hat. Seeing two additional arrows now aimed at him, he urgently shouted at the horse to pull up, which the steed did with such alacrity that Gandalf very nearly lost his grip on Legolas.

"Hey!" he yelled indignantly, "Have I become the target for every heedless Elf in Middle Earth!?"

The two young Elves dropped their bows in such a fashion that Glorfindel would have scolded them for treating their weapons in as careless a manner as elflings newly introduced to the art of archery.

"Mithrandir," exclaimed Elladan, "you must help us with Halbarad. His leg is badly broken!"

Gandalf looked distressed.

"I have Legolas in my charge. He needs the care of your father, I think."

"Estel has gone to fetch him," Elrohir explained. "Now you're here one of us can ride on ahead to hurry him. With your aid, the Lord of Imladris will tend to both Halbarad and Legolas."

Gandalf nodded.

"Very well. Elladan, you should go. Your horse will be more rested than Elrohir's, for he will not have borne a double burden."

"But I haven't my horse at the moment, Mithrandir."

"Wait a bit and you shall. For now, you two come and take Legolas from this horse and lay him in the shade of that boulder. Then you must gather more wood and make sure that every water bladder is full."

Elladan was in the thicket collecting fallen branches when once again he heard hoofbeats.

"My horse," he grinned. "But not alone," he added to himself. Gandalf, in true wizard fashion, had neglected to mention that Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin were riding after him. Puzzled, and a little alarmed, Elladan hastened back to the fire.

"Mithrandir," he began, "whilst in the thicket, I heard—"

"Quite right," said Mithrandir. "You may expect guests. Pray do not shoot at them!"

Mystified, Elladan and Elrohir looked at one another and then shrugged. What else could one expect of a wizard? It was no wonder he and their enigmatic grandnana got along so famously.

A short while later Haldir and his brothers, and Elladan's horse, galloped into the clearing. Elladan gaped at them until Gandalf sharply reminded him that he was to ride for Rivendell. With that, Elladan vaulted onto his horse and urged him once more to a gallop, as he did so promising the steed that he would have a long rest and much oats in recompense for the hard usage.

Thanks to Gandalf's ministrations, Halbarad already looked a little more comfortable, but it was obvious that he could not be moved and would need care more skillful than that of the wizard. Still, the Istar felt that he could safely turn is attention once more to Legolas. To his delight, that young Elf, although still not conscious, was now sleeping in the usual elven manner, eyes open but unfocused.

"It is to be hoped," Gandalf said to himself, "that the problem was infection rather than orc-poison."

Elladan had scarcely ridden twelve leagues when, surmounting a rise, he observed two horses approaching him. He saw at once that they bore Estel and Elrond.

"We will wait here for them," he said to his horse. If the horse had been either a human or an Elf, he would have uttered a great sigh of relief. When, as a mere colt, he had been chosen by Elladan, he knew that he was in for no uncommon life, and on the whole he had enjoyed his numerous adventures; still, there were those moments when he wished he were a gelding and not a war horse. On the other hand, there was that filly….

Elrond and Estel saw Elladan upon the rise and made directly for him.

"How is Halbarad?" asked Elrond after the briefest of preambles.

"Feverish, but Mithrandir now tends him."

Elrond canted an eyebrow at his son.

"Mithrandir? How came he there?"

"Actually, Ada, he was bearing Legolas to you for you to treat _him_. Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin accompany him."

Up went the other eyebrow. Obviously several good tales were going to come out of this episode.

The three set off toward the campsite, cantering now instead of galloping. Still, they made good time.

"Horses approach from the direction of Imladris," said Elrohir. "Mayhap one bears my father."

"No doubt in the company of Elladan," replied Gandalf.

Added the wizard slyly, "Truly your brother has a remarkable horse to have made it to Rivendell and back in such a short time."

"Mithrandir," protested Elrohir, "doubtless my father was very nearly here."

"What is the matter?" teased Gandalf, who knew of Elrohir's competitiveness regarding his horse. "Do I disparage your horse by merely praising your brother's? But, come, let us put the matter aside and prepare to welcome the Lord of Imladris."

Under the circumstances, welcoming the Lord of Imladris was no more elaborate an affair than rising to their feet and calling out a heartfelt 'Mae govannen'.

Elrond dismounted with no formality beyond replying to those greetings and at once began to tend to the injured Ranger and Elf, also sparing a few minutes to look at Orophin's bruised head.

"If Orophin seems addled," a straight-faced Rúmil assured Elrond, "it may not necessarily be the result of the blow."

"_You _may soon be addled," retorted Elrond, "if I am forced to cuff your ears for failing to keep that fire going."

Rúmil hurried off to the thicket to replenish their stock of wood.

With five young Elves and a youth to take care of mundane tasks, Gandalf and Elrond were able to attend to Halbarad and Legolas with great care; and, while neither had improved spectacularly after several hours, they did not worsen and in fact each seemed a little better.

It was thus with some satisfaction that Gandalf and Elrond watched the setting of the sun. As they stood enjoying the glowing sky, Legolas roused himself and said, "Horse." Wizard and healer hurried to his side.

"We have several horses hereabouts," said Elrond gently. "Did you want to see one, yours perhaps?"

Legolas shook his head.

"Another horse."

"You want to see one of the other horses?"

"Another horse comes. Yonder."

Elrond and Gandalf looked toward the thicket, and a light-stepping elven horse cantered forth, the setting sun shimmering from the robes of the slender figure who sat gracefully astride it.

Now it was Elrond and Gandalf's turn to gape. This was a most unexpected vision. Elrond was the first to find his voice.

"My Lady, you are very welcome here."

Galadriel surveyed the scene, a gently teasing smile upon her face.

"Two patients, and both a wizard and a healer in attendance. I am not needed here."

She made as if to turn her horse about.

"My Lady," called Elrond, "now you are here, surely you will stay and accompany us to Rivendell. I would be loath to miss an opportunity to extend the hospitality of Imladris to the Lady of Lothlórien."

"But as I have said, my services are unnecessary."

Estel was standing nearby. He had run without stopping to Rivendell, and without rest had ridden back again. Since his return, he had been ceaselessly scurrying hither and thither, fetching this and that. He chose this moment to fall in a dead faint.

"On second thought," said Galadriel wryly, "I may be of some use after all. It seems that our young Dúnadan is not yet altogether a Ranger."

"Oh, but he is," croaked Halbarad in a hoarse voice, causing both Elrond and Gandalf to startle. They had not known that he was awake.

"A Ranger," continued Halbarad, "knows to seize upon every moment that is appropriate for sleeping—aye, and will sleep deeply when it is safe to do so, in order to make up for all those occasions when sleep was a rare luxury. And surely it is safe to sleep so in the presence of the Lady of Lothlórien, surrounded as she is by an aura of calmness and surety."

This was rather a long speech for Halbarad, and a witty one, and all were duly impressed, not the least the Lady of Lothlórien.

"I shall stay," she proclaimed, "so that I may sit in speech with Master Halbarad. I wish to practice clever retorts, and clearly he is a worthy partner for such an endeavor."

Elrond gave an exaggerated bow.

"I would be honored if you would deign to gift us with your presence for any reason."

Laughing, Galadriel dismounted, but soon was all business and bustle as she bathed Estel's face and wrists.

"I think he may have been suffocating from having been smothered in dust," she observed, shaking her head in mock horror.

"You will find," rejoined Elrond, "that on this expedition even Legolas has accumulated a fine layer of grit."

"I do not believe that!"

"But it is true, Lady!"

Estel began to come around, and blushed to find himself lying in the lap of the Lady of Lothlórien.

"Estel," she teased him, "you must become used to lying in ladies' laps. I see that you are growing a beard, and soon all the maidens will insist upon it."

Estel turned even redder and tried to gracefully extricate himself from her lap, which was of course impossible. He ended up flipping over awkwardly and crawling away on his hands and knees until he was able to arise and stagger away. As Galadriel watched his retreat, her smile grew thoughtful.

"Elrond, he must be told soon."

"Aye, Galadriel, he must. Upon our return to Rivendell, once our patients are safely bestowed, I shall speak with him. I am glad you will be there, for I hope you will speak with him as well."

"I shall, I assure you. Perhaps that is why I have been led here. And I would speak with the Lady Gilraen as well."

"That would be good," opined Gandalf. "I do not think she is long for Middle Earth, now she has seen her son reach manhood."

"He is not a Man," protested Elrohir, who sat nearby.

"Oh, yes, he is, Elrohir," replied Gandalf. "You and Elladan are simply too near to see it. He is no longer your little brother."

"Nor is Arwen your little sister," added Galadriel. "Elrond, you should recall her to Imladris before you and your sons no longer recognize her!"

"I will, Galadriel. After you have visited with us for a time in Rivendell, I will accompany you to Lothlórien. When I return to Imladris, Arwen shall ride with me."

Galadriel cast a swift smile at Gandalf. Then, matters having been settled to her satisfaction, she excused herself and retired to the makeshift tent that had been fashioned for her by Haldir and his brothers.

"Yes," she thought before allowing herself to drift into dreams, "matters are drawing to a very satisfactory conclusion indeed."


	38. What's In A Name?

**_Grumpy: _So you were laughing outloud, eh? As Gandalf would say, "Bad sign, that"!**

**_Kelly Kragen: _Yes, you're right. Legolas' face is smudged with dirt or smoke when they come out from Moria onto the mountainside. Otherwise, he seems impervious to grime. Remember when he returns Arwen's pendant to Aragorn? Aragorn's hands are grubby and bloody, but Legolas' hands look as if he'd just had a manicure. Wonder if Peter Jackson made Orlando Bloom wear mitts off camera that day. Probably Jackson would've docked Bloom's pay if he'd chewed his nails. Now Elijah Wood, he'd probably have docked his pay if he _hadn't_!**

**_Joee: _You will be pleased to know that I have started work on an Edwen Nana story that gives her a name and a past. Or maybe you won't be pleased to know that, as no doubt it will distract me a little from _this_ story. Hear that, everyone? Blame _Joee_!**

**Chapter 38: What's In a Name?**

The next morning Haldir and his brothers, to their great disappointment, were sent back to Lothlórien to inform Celeborn that all were safe and that Galadriel had decided to travel on to Imladris. After the Lórien brothers had departed, Glorfindel and his warriors arrived, and now a very large party was encamped most comfortably for the several days Elrond deemed they should wait before moving Halbarad and Legolas (although that young Elf had revived considerably after Elrond applied a poultice to his infected wound). Glorfindel's Elves had packed cloth for pavilions and had brought cooking utensils and ample provisions. The anxieties of the last several days subsided as Elves stooped over cooking fires and passed around platters laden with food. Only Elrond expressed any displeasure over the situation.

"_You_ tried to convince me that all would be well," he said to Glorfindel, "but everyone got into trouble of one sort or another."

"But," argued Glorfindel, "you must see that it is good that Estel went, for he was able to warn Elrohir and Elladan that they were being pursued by Orcs. And it was good that Elrohir and Elladan went, because they were able to rescue Halbarad from the pit."

"True," said Elrond, "but if Elrohir and Elladan hadn't gone in the first place, then they wouldn't have needed warning, and if Estel hadn't gone, then Halbarad wouldn't have needed rescuing because he wouldn't have been anywhere in the neighborhood of that sinkhole!"

"Now, Elrond," Gandalf interjected, "you know that it is not feasible for you to keep young Elves and a novice Dúnadan bottled up in Imladris. No, no more than Thranduil can keep Legolas under lock and key."

"Oh, and that's another one," declared Elrond. "I am sure Thranduil will be _so_ pleased to know that his son ran off into the Misty Mountains, where an Orc tried to literally slice him to ribbons."

"True," Galadriel joined in, smiling archly, "and Mithrandir may have to forfeit his staff on that account."

"Forfeit his staff?" said Elrond, puzzled. "But how can a wizard get on without a staff?"

Glorfindel snorted.

"Never mind that," said Gandalf, glaring at Glorfindel. "I have no intention of forfeiting my staff!"

He arose.

"I think I'll just go and check on Halbarad," he declared huffily. And off he stomped.

Estel was sitting with Halbarad, and Gandalf's mood softened when he saw the youth—no, the young man!—proffering a water bladder to the injured Dúnadan. No one would have thought badly of Estel if he'd been off skylarking with some of the younger Elves, but the novice Ranger preferred to look after the Man who had hitherto been looking after _him_.

As the wizard studied the young Man, he realized just how much he had changed since returning from Mirkwood. He had shot up in height and put on muscle. His voice had deepened, and fine hair grew upon his lip and chin. Galadriel had been very nearly right; Estel was only a few hairs shy of a beard.

The young Ranger smiled a welcome at the wizard and gestured for him to sit down upon a folded cloak. Gandalf complied.

"May I bring you anything, Mithrandir?"

"No, thank you, Estel. I dined at Elrond's campfire."

"I suppose Elrond is dismayed that we got into a scrape or two."

"Oh, yes. He is giving his eyebrows a vigorous workout."

"Glorfindel always used to warn him that some day his eyebrows would become stuck just below his hairline and that he would then look perpetually surprised."

"Not an inappropriate expression for a parent, I expect."

"But, truly, we did not do _too_ badly, did we, Mithrandir?"

Indeed, you did not. In fact, you did very well. You made appropriate decisions and acted upon them in an exemplary fashion. For all his grumbling, Elrond is proud of you. He will not object when you venture forth again after Halbarad's leg has healed."

"Good! For I _must_ venture forth. There is something I need to do, although I am not sure what it is."

"Hmmm. An interesting observation, that. So, do you think there is a quest in your future?"

"I do not know—only that I will not always be at Rivendell."

"Well, well," said Gandalf, standing up and brushing off his robe, "perhaps you should have a chat with Elrond when you return to Rivendell. He may be able to offer you some suggestions. Have you seen Legolas?"

"He is at Elladan and Elrohir's campfire."

"Behaving himself?"

Estel grinned, suddenly looking very much the boy again.

"As I said, he is with Elladan and Elrohir!"

"Hmmph! I'd better check on him."

Gandalf strolled over to the twins' campfire. There he found that Legolas, who, before Rúmil had departed, had at last claimed the bottle of wine that the Lórien Elf had twice proffered, was threatening to not share it with his foster-brothers. He was holding the bottle above his head, and Elrohir was grappling for it.

"If you don't give over that game," called Gandalf, "the bottle will soon be broken, and then no one will have any. Here, you'd better let me hold it."

Legolas relinquished the bottle to the wizard, who promptly turned and walked away with it back toward Elrond's campfire.

"Here now! Where are you going!?" a startled Legolas shouted after him.

"I implied that no one would have any wine if the bottle broke," Gandalf called over his shoulder, "but I didn't say that _you_ would be the one to drink it if it _didn't_."

The young Elves looked helplessly at each other for a few seconds before bursting into good-natured shouts of protest that they flung at the back of the retreating Istar. He was unmoved, however, and the next day he cheerfully told the young Elves that the wine had been much appreciated at Elrond's campfire. It had turned out that Glorfindel had not ordered that the beverage be one of the items packed by his warriors.

The time drew near for the company to depart for Rivendell. The night before, horses were heard approaching from the east. Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin cantered into the camp, the three of them grinning ferociously.

"The Lord Celeborn has decreed that we are to accompany the Lady Galadriel to Imladris," Orophin announced proudly. "She needs an escort appropriate to her status."

"Then I wonder at your having been chosen," gibed Elrohir. "Wasn't that _your_ arrow in Mithrandir's hat, Orophin?" The Imladris Elf was in fact delighted that the Lórien brothers had rejoined the company, but, of course, it would never do to admit _that_.

"Actually," Haldir later confided to Elladan, "I think Celeborn simply wanted to get rid of Rúmil. My brother is quite taken by his latest elleth and has been loitering about in a tree near her flet, serenading her at the most inopportune moments. So lovelorn is he that his limbs no longer obey him, and as a result he has fallen from the tree several times. The last occasion, he landed at the feet of the father of his belovéd, and that Elf promptly stormed off to Celeborn's talan. The next morning Celeborn summoned us and informed us that we had been chosen to ride with Galadriel to Imladris."

"Well, whatever the reason," said Elladan, "I am glad you and your brothers have returned. Something exciting is sure to happen now."

The next morning, when they left for Imladris, Legolas was fully able to sit his horse. Halbarad, of course, still had to be borne in a litter, but, since there were plenty of Elves to take turns carrying it, the party was still able to move at a good pace.

When they arrived at Rivendell, Halbarad was at once carried to the House of Healing, and Elrond urged Estel to go there likewise.

"You should spend some time in your mother's company, Estel. Dwell in a chamber in the House of Healing for the next fortnight so that you may spend all your waking hours with her. You have grown much lately, and it would give her great pleasure to marvel at the changes that have taken place in you."

Estel gladly agreed and followed the stretcher bearers to the House. His mother was not in her chamber, and he knew to look for her in one of the gardens. There she lay sleeping lightly, her head pillowed on her cloak. Estel stole silently toward her and woke her gently, lest he startle her.

"Naneth," he said softly. "Nana."

She opened her eyes and gazed at him, momentarily confused.

"Arathorn?"

"No, Nana. I am Estel."

"You have grown to look much like Arathorn."

"My father?"

"Yes, your father."

"Nana, was my father named after—"

Gilraen placed a finger upon his lips.

"I do not wish to speak of the past, for then I must think of the future. Let me enjoy you in the here and now."

These words puzzled Estel, but he was used to being mystified on the subject of both his heritage and his destiny. As always, he shrugged off his bewilderment and amused his mother by telling her droll stories of his adventures, leaving out or minimizing anything that might suggest that he had been in danger.

Estel spent a very pleasant two weeks in the company of his mother, but increasingly he found himself gazing up toward the mountains that sheltered the valley of Rivendell. He had journeyed past the borders of Imladris only a few times; still, and even though he could remember no other home, he knew that this was not the place in which he was destined to dwell. One day his mother spoke to him as he gazed upward.

"You are restless, my son."

"I have always been restless, Nana."

"This is a new restlessness and not the wriggling of an impatient child."

"Nana, for as long as I can remember, I have been training with bow and sword and have been drilled in the history of Gondor, distant though that land be. There is a reason for this."

"I think," said Gilraen calmly, "that it is now time for you to speak with your foster-father, for the tale begins long before I was born, and Elrond is one of the few who can tell it from his own memory. But promise that you will come back to me before you depart."

There was a finality in Gilraen's voice that caused Estel to lock eyes with his mother. She met his gaze unwaveringly.

"I will, Nana," Estel said at last.

"Much will be gained, but much lost," he heard a voice say. It sounded so much like Gandalf that he swung about in search of him, but no one was in the garden save his mother. She smiled knowingly. If she had then stood side by side with Galadriel, they could have been sisters.

"Some would say that you are a wizard's pupil, but I do not think that is a bad thing. Mithrandir wants nothing for himself. He has sacrificed much, suffered much, on your behalf, and will continue to do so."

"On my behalf?"

"Yes, on behalf of Estel. That is both who and what you are, my son. Go now, lest I be tempted to keep Estel for myself and deny him to others."

"Farewell, Nana."

"No, not yet. But soon."

Pondering his mother's words, Estel paced slowly away from the House of Healing and went in search of Elrond. He encountered Gandalf in the corridor outside the elf-lord's private chamber.

"Is my father within?"

"One of them is."

"Riddle me no riddles, Mithrandir. My mother has set me enough of those for one day!"

"In that case, you had best delay speaking to Elrond. He broke fast with Galadriel, who has left him in possession of a great stock of enigmatic sayings that he is eager to bestow on others to lighten his own load."

Estel groaned melodramatically.

"I am afraid this conversation cannot wait."

"Ah, the exuberance of youth."

"But you have said that I am a Man!"

"Yes, a young Man. But go on, go on. You have prepared long for this day."

Estel sighed.

"I know, I know," he intoned. "And much will be gained, but much lost."

"Really? Wish I had said that. Sounds positively profound."

With a provoking smile, Gandalf strode off, leaving behind a flummoxed young Ranger. Trying to collect himself, Estel raised his hand to knock on the door, but before he could do so, Elrond called 'Enter'. Now Estel was past flummoxed and had entered the realm of complete and total confusion. Timidly, he pushed open the door. Elrond stood by a window, a wine goblet in each hand. He crossed over to Estel and offered him one.

"You have many questions. Sit down so that we may talk in comfort."

Estel took the goblet and sat down, but to his dismay found that he could not sit still.

"Whatever my mother may have said, I still _do_ wriggle like an impatient child," he thought. The discovery mortified him.

Elrond, however, did not seem to notice and smiled encouragingly at him.

"Your questions, my son?"

Suddenly Estel realized that he had only a single question, one that would encompass all the others.

"Who am I?"

Elrond nodded approvingly.

"Well said. You are Estel, that is to say, Aragorn son of Arathorn."

"That is no answer."

"True, but it is the beginning of one. It is both who you are and who you will become."

"You speak of my future?"

"Yes, but to talk plainly about your future, it will first be necessary to talk about your past."

"That is very like something my mother but lately said."

"On this matter, your mother and I have long been of one mind. Estel, do you remember the genealogies that Erestor taught you?"

Estel smiled.

"Which one, for he taught me many!?"

"The descendants of Isildur."

"Oh, yes, I know that genealogy well, for he insisted that I spend more time on it than on any other."

"Recite for me the Kings of the Northern Line. Do not omit the Chieftains."

This was an easy matter for Estel to do. When he was finished, again Elrond nodded approvingly.

"Well done. You have, however, omitted two names from the end of the list."

"Erestor never mentioned any additional Chieftains."

"True, and that at my direction. But now I will teach you of these Chieftains. One was Arathorn son of Arador. This was Arathorn the Second."

"He was named after Arathorn son of Arassuil, then?"

"Yes."

"What became of Arathorn son of Arador?"

"He was slain in a skirmish with Orcs, shot through the eye."

"You said that there were two names omitted," said Estel softly. "Did this Arathorn have a son?"

"He did. This son was two when his father died. The child was brought to Rivendell for fostering."

"What was the name of this son?" asked Estel, his voice now almost a whisper.

"I think you know that."

"Why?" It was all Estel could think to say.

Elrond smiled, but only a very little.

"Why were you brought here? Why were you never told? Both questions? Neither?"

Estel considered.

"Both, but maybe some other question besides that I cannot yet put into words."

"The answer to both questions is the same: for your safety. Enemies would arise who would never rest were it known that even one drop of the blood of Isildur still circulates within the veins of any Man."

"I do not understand."

"You, my son, are a very dangerous Man."

"Dangerous?"

"You are Isildur's heir," Elrond said simply. "Think on it."

"I will, Ada." Estel hesitated. "You are still my Ada, are you not?" he said almost plaintively.

"Of course. For all but the first few years of your life, I have stood for you as your father. Moreover, we are tied together by blood. You are descended from my brother Elros, who chose to remain in Middle Earth forever and so died long before you were born. We are doubly bound, then, for you may think of me as an uncle as well as a father."

"A great-uncle, of course."

Now Elrond laughed outright.

"If you are trying for genealogical accuracy, you would have to add a very great many 'greats'. Plain 'uncle' will do."

Elrond arose to his feet.

"We must speak more of this matter, and there are certain heirlooms that I would deliver to your hands. For tonight, however, I think you have enough to think on. Tomorrow I will break fast with you in my private chamber so that we may talk yet again. Until then, stay well, my son."

Estel stood by a still pool in the garden gazing at his reflection. As he studied it, he tried out his Dúnadan name.

"Aragorn. Aragorn. Aragorn son of Arathorn. Aragorn the Second, named for Aragorn son of Aravir. Aragorn son of Arathorn, Isildur's heir."

"Talking to yourself?" interrupted a voice. "Bad sign, that."

"_You_ are always muttering to yourself, Mithrandir," retorted Estel.

"Ah, but I am a wizard. When I mutter, I am merely trying to keep up appearances. You have no such excuse."

"Is not bewilderment a sufficient excuse?"

"And what cause have you to be bewildered? Has not Elrond answered your questions?"

"His answers raise a host of new questions."

"That, Estel, is usually what happens when the questioner is a wise Man."

The young Man shook his head.

"I think you had better call me Aragorn, else I shall never become accustomed to the name."

"Ah, I see. Aragorn."

"Yes. Aragorn son of Arathorn."

"Of course," Gandalf warned him, "it will be long before that name can be safely uttered by any but Elves and Dúnadain."

"True, but amongst those peoples at least I would be known by it."

Gandalf bowed gravely to him, startling Aragorn, for the young Man was not accustomed to the gesture. He recovered quickly, however, for he had another question.

"Mithrandir is your elven name. You have several others, do you not?"

"Yes, I have gone through names about as freely as Legolas has."

"By what name are you known to Men?"

"Even amongst Men I have several names, but most commonly I am Gandalf when I sojourn in their lands."

"Gandalf," said Aragorn thoughtfully.

"You may not recall this, but once you were in the habit of calling me Gandalf. When you lost your front baby teeth, you could only lisp 'Mifunder', but you could say Gandalf clearly enough. You may call me that name again, if you wish."

"I have heard Halbarad call you that. Yes, if that is the name by which you are known amongst the Rangers, then it is the one I shall make use of."

"Good. Now that's settled. Anything else?"

"Yes. Gandalf, what am I to do?"

"Do? What you have been trained to do! Slay Orcs. Wargs, too. Oh, yes, become king of Gondor."

Aragorn laughed at the wizard's drollery.

"Very well," Gandalf said, laughing as well. "Here is what I recommend. Practice your skills as a fighter and a tracker and whilst doing so learn as much as you can about the peoples and the places that you shall someday either rule or ally yourself with. Journey throughout the north and familiarize yourself with that region. Someday it shall be part of your realm. Spend time in the south as well. I would recommend that you ride for a time with the Rohirrim, for they will be valuable allies. Travel to Gondor, too. How not!? It will someday be your capital city. Of course, do not do any of this journeying as Aragorn son of Arathorn!"

Aragorn remembered the name he had once employed in Dunland.

"Will Thorongil do?"

"Ah, yes. That will do nicely."

"Anything else, Gandalf?"

"Oh, yes. Do be sure to fall in love."

"Seriously, Gandalf!"

"But I am serious. However, if the thought of romance daunts you, I will set you another task. If during any of your wanderings you come across Gollum, do capture him for me!"

"On second thought," grinned Aragorn, "perhaps I'll just fall in love after all. Your descriptions of Gollum leave me loath to encounter him."

Gandalf looked disappointed.

"I jest," said Aragorn hastily. "I pledge to you that I will someday capture this Gollum for you."

"Ah," beamed Gandalf, "that would be much appreciated. I won't leave off looking for him myself, of course, but I suspect you are better suited to bring him in than I am. And now you must excuse me. If I am not very much mistaken, my hat should be ready by now."

"You have had it repaired, then? Pity."

"Why?"

"If you had waited, you could have had Edwen Nana do it for you. I know she is most anxious to take prodigious good care of you."

Gandalf looked hard at Aragorn and saw him suppressing a smirk.

"I suppose," he said severely, "now you're a Man you think you are entitled to joke about _that_."

"About what?" asked Aragorn, assuming an air of innocence.

"Never you mind," grumbled Gandalf. "Have a care that I do not cause your voice to rise several registers!" Stomping off, he muttered, "One of these days must have a chat with Legolas about tale bearing."

But, Reader, it would be a long time before Gandalf would ever find the time to have that chat.


	39. Gandalf's Staff Redivivus

**_Grumpy: _You think Aragorn is in bad shape now? Wait until Galadriel finishes having her little chat with him!**

**_Rinny_****_ Leonhart: _Aerobic eyebrows, the new way to control one's weight.**

**_Kelly Kragen: _Thank you for pointing out the error about the wine. I have uploaded a correction. See, _Dragonfly_ goes on vacation and errors start slipping in like Orcs creeping back into Dol Guldur!**

**_Karri: _After Sauron has been destroyed, I suspect Gandalf and Edwen Nana are going to spend some quality time together. Their story has taken on a life of its own.**

**_Joee_****_: _Yes, Aragorn faces a daunting future. "Oh, Aragorn." "Yes, Ada?" "Don't forget to save the world this week." "It's on my calendar for Friday. Will that do?" "Thursday would be better, but never mind."**

**Chapter 39: Gandalf's Staff Redividus**

Gilglîr groaned as he read the missive from Celeborn that had just been placed in his hand by the Lothlórien messenger who stood deferentially before him.

"So Prince Legolas is no longer in Lothlórien."

"No, my Lord."

"And he intends to journey on to Imladris."

"Yes, my Lord."

"In the company of Mithrandir."

"Aye, my Lord, but with many others as well: the Lady Galadriel, the Lords Elrond and Glorfindel, and the young Lords Elrohir and Elladan. There are also several Marchwardens in the company—Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin among them—as well as many ordinary scouts and warriors."

"A goodly company, I see."

"Do you wish to return an answer, my Lord?"

"No doubt King Thranduil will desire to compose one once he has had an opportunity to consider the matter."

"I have one other message to deliver, my Lord."

"Indeed?"

The messenger held forth a staff.

"The Lord Celeborn says that this staff is to be given into the hand of King Thranduil. The Lord Celeborn says that he acts on behalf of the wizard Mithrandir and that the King of Mirkwood will know what the staff portends."

Gilglîr accepted the staff and then summoned a servant, instructing him to furnish the messenger with a chamber and all that was needful for his comfort. Next the Seneschal went with some reluctance to Thranduil's private chamber. To Gilglîr's relief, Tawarmaenas and Tathar were there. Perhaps he could use the presence of the young Elves to ameliorate the wrath that the Seneschal expected Thranduil to vent once he learned that Legolas was no longer in Lothlórien and was moreover far from returning home.

"Mae govannen, Tawarmaenas, Tathar. I have not seen either of you in several days."

"We have been traveling on our eastern border, where we have been examining the newly constructed defenses."

"Good. As your uncle knows, I heartily approve of the decision to no longer rely upon our allies in Esgaroth as the sole guarantors of our eastern borders. If our allies fall, so too will our defenses unless we have constructed additional ones of our own."

"You will be pleased with what has been done, Gilglîr," replied Tawarmaenas. "Tathar's plans are most ingenious."

"I do not doubt it! Thranduil, I have today received a letter from King Bain in which he requests that we vouchsafe him Tathar's services for several months. If the fortifications to the east are very nearly finished, perhaps we could spare him now."

"I do not grudge Bain the favor, but let Tathar remain here until Legolas returns. My son would be disappointed if Tathar were not here to greet him."

"Ah, how fortuitous! We can send Tathar at once to King Bain because Legolas has been delayed. Tathar will be able to advise Bain and yet journey back in time to greet Legolas upon his own return."

Thranduil fixed Gilglîr with a decidedly suspicious stare.

"Delayed?"

"Yes, Thranduil. This sort of thing happens when one travels abroad."

"What 'sort of thing'?"

"Why, delays, of course."

"Allow me to be precise. What _sort_ of delay?"

"Well, you see, Legolas has been swept up in a great company that is journeying to Imladris. Unprecedented, really. Galadriel, Elrond, Glorfindel, and Mithrandir. Virtually the entire council. Fortunate, isn't it, that Legolas, Prince of Greenwood, is on hand to represent this realm."

"Fortunate, indeed!" enthused Tawarmaenas. "And lucky for Legolas. No doubt he will be able to spend time with Elladan and Elrohir."

"Yes," agreed Gilglîr, "and with Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin as well! Remarkable how well things turn out! Thranduil, a messenger brought news of this only today and rests here tonight. No doubt you will wish to send him off tomorrow with a letter acknowledging the receipt of this news."

"Receipt of this news, you say. Not my permission but only my acknowledgement?"

"Well, Thranduil, as you know, it takes several days to journey between Caras Galadhon and the Great Hall. No doubt Legolas is already somewhere between Lothlórien and Rivendell."

"Oh, yes," said Thranduil grimly, "I am sure of _that_."

"I am glad," continued Gilglîr hurriedly, "that you have been encouraging Legolas to make decisions. Thus he was equipped to deal with this situation, one in which he had to determine on his own what to do because you were too far away to provide him with immediate instructions. Good training for a future king, really."

"You needn't lay it on so thick, Gilglîr," said Thranduil, torn between irritation and amusement. "I am not going to shout, as it would be a waste of good fury that I can save to expend later on Legolas or Mithrandir, or both. Now tell me truly: why did Legolas leave Lothlórien?"

"Something about Elladan and Elrohir and Orcs, I believe. A Dúnadan is mixed up in it somehow, too."

"No wargs?"

"Nothing of that mentioned in the letter."

"No Trolls, neither?"

"No, just Orcs."

"I suppose," Thranduil said sardonically, "that you will now point out what a stroke of luck that was. Ah, but here is Legolas' foster-mother. Mae govannen, Edwen Nana. Gilglîr has just finished regaling me with a most interesting bit of news. I am sure that he will be _delighted_ to share it with you. Won't you?" he continued, turning to Gilglîr and grinning wickedly.

Gilglîr turned paler than the waning moon. Before he could speak, however, Edwen Nana's sharp eyes had lit upon the staff that leaned against the arm of his chair.

"What's this?" she inquired shrewdly. "_You_ don't possess such a staff! At least not _that_ sort of a staff."

"No," agreed Gilglîr meekly. "This is not my staff. Mithrandir sent it. Thranduil will understand its meaning, I believe."

"As do I," exclaimed Edwen Nana, seizing the rod. "If Mithrandir were here, I would break it over his head! As he is not, I will hold it until he returns—and _then_ I will break it over his head!"

Clutching the staff, the nursemaid swept out of the room, leaving even Thranduil a trifle disconcerted. Tathar, however, was not at all taken aback. Indeed, he laughed after the door had closed behind Legolas' foster-mother.

"Edwen Nana," he chuckled, "has long wanted to get her hands on Gandalf's staff. Of course, this is not quite what she had in mind!"

Tawarmaenas looked blank, Thranduil red, and Gilglîr once again pale. Tathar could not forbear laughing again.

"I beg your pardon, King Thranduil," he gasped at last. "I mean no disrespect."

Suddenly Thranduil burst into laughter as well, and then he was joined by Gilglîr. They laughed and they laughed until their sides ached and their cheeks were streaked with tears. Only Tawarmaenas did not join in the merriment.

"I do not understand," he said, somewhat aggrieved. "What amuses you so?"

"Oh," hiccoughed Thranduil, "I have a vision of Edwen Nana in possession of Mithrandir's rod."

Gilglîr was bent over, so hard was he laughing, and Tathar had altogether collapsed onto the floor.

"But why would such a vision provoke this hilarity?" asked Tawarmaenas, still at a loss. "Whatever would be so funny about Edwen Nana getting her hands on Mithrandir's staff?"

This set the other three Elves off again. That night it was a long time before laughter ceased resounding in the corridors of the Great Hall.


	40. Dragon Discourse

**_Dragonfly: _Yes, Thranduil has matured. That's why from now on it will probably be Edwen Nana who splutters in a fury. She'll be Thranduil's proxy, as I have reformed him so very thoroughly. Regarding Tawarmaenas: I've got to get him into Elrohir and Elladan's company so that he can be enlightened as to the facts of life. Should be a funny chapter.**

**_Farflung_****Wow! You've performed an epic feat, catching up with me like that! I shall have to write faster! Yes, as I commented to _Dragonfly_, that young Elf needs to be provided with a little information on the subject of where elflings come from. Something like a Mirkwood version of 'Got Milk?' Oh, yes, Tathar's ingeniousness figures in Chapter 2 of 'Edwen Nana', which I suspect you have not seen because you haven't reviewed it. You may want to check it out. (How's that for trolling for reviews? I am _so_ subtle!)**

**Chapter 40: Dragon Discourse**

Elrond looked out across the valley of Rivendell and sighed.

"What troubles you, Elrond?" said Glorfindel, coming up to stand by him upon the balcony.

"I am thinking how good it is to be here—and how sorry I shall be to depart."

"Do you regret your choice?"

Elrond shook his head.

"No, it was either be parted from Middle Earth or from my kindred."

"You have still been parted from some of them, and you may be parted from others in the future."

"True. I made the best choice I could, knowing as I did that nothing was certain."

"Most choices are like that—based upon probability, not certainty. After all, confronted with a certainty, we should not have to exercise much of a choice, would we?"

Elrond sighed again, a trifle melodramatically.

"Who would have imagined that immortality could be such a burden? I am able to worry about uncertainties for all eternity. Wonderful!"

"When you have left for the Undying Lands, will not all worry cease?"

Elrond grimaced.

"Perhaps, but then all the interest will have gone out of my life! I shall have that to worry over!"

"Elrond! You are bent on being melancholy today! I will spare no more sympathy on you. I will go and find someone more deserving—Estel, for example."

"You mean Aragorn."

"Oh, yes, I had forgot. Aragorn."

"And, why, pray tell, is Aragorn in need of sympathy?"

"He has been thinking."

"Thinking! How dreadful!"

"Elrond! Do be serious!"

"I thought I was to be chided for being too serious."

"Elrond!"

"Whatever is Elrond doing to cause you to shout at him so?" said Gandalf, coming up to join them.

"He is being provokingly paradoxical. He is mournful because he must confront difficult choices, and he is mournful because he is to be spared difficult choices."

"For shame, Elrond, that you should be so hard to please. One would think you an elfling."

"Oh, and _you_ have behaved so well lately, Mithrandir," scoffed Elrond. "Tell me again how you came to be locked up in Dol Guldur."

"Well, well," said Gandalf hastily, "water over the dam, that."

"And wizard through the window," chortled Glorfindel. "At least Aragorn is past such behavior."

"Ah, yes, Aragorn. Did my ears deceive me, or were you and Elrond discussing Aragorn as I drew near?"

"Yes," Glorfindel replied. "I was just telling Elrond that Aragorn was deserving of sympathy."

"Hmph!" snorted Gandalf. "A prince and heir to the throne of Gondor deserving of sympathy? Whatever for?"

"I suppose," said Elrond, "that the fact he will have to fight through an army of Orcs before claiming said throne may have something to do with it."

"Indeed," agreed Glorfindel. "But it was not for that reason that I said he was deserving of sympathy. Since he has learned of his heritage, he has for the first time given great thought to his mortality and that of his mother. Growing up amongst Elves in Imladris, this was not a matter that has hitherto dominated his thoughts. Now, having learned of his genealogy, he cannot help but think of the ways in which he is not elvish, his vulnerability to the passage of time being one."

"Is he affrighted by this knowledge?" asked Gandalf.

"Not affrighted, no. But suddenly he feels that time for him will always be short. He realizes that he does not have an eternity in which to achieve all that is expected of him."

"Although not an Elf, he will still live a very long time," Gandalf pointed out, "for he is one of the Dúnedain, in whose veins flows the blood of Numenor."

"Moreover," added Elrond, "although you say that he is not an Elf, he is a descendant of Elros, and so part-elven, even if the moiety be small. His lifespan may be even longer than those of Men who do trace their ancestry to Numenor."

"These things be true," conceded Glorfindel, "but the length of life allotted to a full-blooded Numenorean was as nothing compared to the length of time that will pass during the space of an eternity. Aragorn understands this."

"What would you have us do to assuage his concerns?" asked Elrond thoughtfully.

"Do? Nothing. Why should he not be mindful of his mortality? Why should he not be eager to make the most of the time allotted to him? No, Elrond, you should do nothing. Or, if anything, encourage him in his resolve to seize the day. Above all, do not place obstacles before him."

"I place obstacles before him!" exclaimed Elrond indignantly. "Why ever would I do that?"

"Because of the affection you feel for him," replied Glorfindel levelly.

"Glorfindel has a point," said Gandalf. "Elrond, our friend Halbarad will not be able to travel for several weeks. Aragorn has told me he means to set out on his own, without waiting for Halbarad to recover. What say you to this plan?"

"What say I!?" exclaimed Elrond, horrified. "What say I!? Mithrandir, if you have encouraged him in this hare-brained scheme—oh, I see," the elf-lord suddenly broke off in embarrassment.

Glorfindel smirked, and even Gandalf allowed himself a most unwizardly grin.

"Very well," Elrond conceded sheepishly. "I wish to safeguard my young kinsman and foster-son. Is that so very dreadful?"

"No one said it was 'dreadful'," observed Gandalf. "Glorfindel merely wished to suggest that it would be unwise. In this I concur."

"So Aragorn is to go off on his own," sighed Elrond. "Now I feel truly melancholy. For even if he does not come to grief, this will be the beginning of a long process by which I shall lose him. We will be sundered at the last."

"True," agreed Gandalf. "And this may be but the first of many losses."

"Not 'may' but 'will be'," said Elrond gloomily. "I do not even wish to imagine what the other losses shall be. But I have a favor to ask of you, Mithrandir."

"I will grant it if I may."

"Keep an eye on him, will you?"

"Indeed I shall. Two, whenever I can spare them."

"Oh, _that's_ encouraging," teased Glorfindel, "as we know how rarely you are otherwise engaged."

The three friends joined together in hearty laughter. Attracted by the noise, Erestor poked his head through the door.

"Let me guess: you are telling goblin jokes."

"No," said Gandalf.

"Dwarf jokes, then?"

"No. Knock-knock jokes," said the wizard with a perfectly straight face.

"Knock-knock jokes?"

"Yes. I say 'Knock-knock'; you say 'Who's there?'"

"Very well."

"Knock-knock."

"Who's there?"

"Dragon."

Erestor looked at Gandalf expectantly.

"Ah," said Gandalf, "I forgot: you must now say 'Dragon who?' Let's try again. Knock-knock."

"Who's there?"

"Dragon."

"Dragon who?"

"Dragon the Dwarf's treasure around kept the time from dragon for the dragon."

Erestor stared at Gandalf.

"And this is supposed to be funny?"

"Well," said Gandalf, "_you_ are forever punning. Why may I not do so?"

"Because," replied Erestor with great dignity, "you only do so-so when you do so."

"Ooooh," chorused Gandalf, Elrond, and Glorfindel in unison. Then all tried to look dignified in unison as Galadriel glided gracefully onto the balcony.

"This is an estimable company," she observed, "no doubt engaged in weighty conversation."

"In truth," said Elrond solemnly, "before you arrived the conversation was dragon."

"Dragging?"

"Yes, but now you are here, we trust it will be dragon no longer."

Galadriel looked at Elrond quizzically.

"Let us not be dragon this out forever," Glorfindel now joined in, his face all innocence. "The Lady Galadriel no doubt has sought us out for a reason."

"Indeed I have," said the Lady. "My pardon if I am dragon you away from an important discussion, but I am concerned about Aragorn, whose mood seems to be dragon almost as much as that of a Dwarf who has witnessed a dragon dragon away the Naugol's hard-won treasure."

Even Erestor was impressed.

"But let me be serious," Galadriel resumed. "Elrond, your foster-son is anxious to commence his journeys throughout Middle Earth. I have just come away from speaking with him, and he is under the impression that he faces opposition from you in this matter."

"I have already been lessoned on this subject by Glorfindel," Elrond replied.

"Ah, and as you have been lessoned, no doubt your resistance is the less."

"Yes, as a result of his lessoning, my fears are lessening. But all punning aside," Elrond added hastily as Erestor grimaced, "Glorfindel has warned me not to stand in his way."

"I am glad to hear that. Aragorn has told me that he means to travel to Bree-land, as he and Halbarad had originally purposed."

Elrond looked relieved.

"Bree-land. Excellent! What trouble could he possibly get into in Bree-land?"

Glorfindel and Gandalf both simultaneously opened their mouths, but Galadriel gestured at them to be silent.

"He will in fact get into quite a bit of trouble in Bree-land," she said matter-of-factly, "but nothing he cannot manage to deal with in a satisfactory manner."

Elrond opened his mouth to protest, and it was his turn to be gestured into silence by Galadriel.

"Elrond, we have already agreed that you will not place obstacles in Aragorn's path."

"But now you are assuring me that he will get into trouble in Bree-land!"

"Yes. He will also get into trouble in Hollin, the Misty Mountains, the Northern Waste, Fangorn Forest, Northern Mirkwood _and_ Southern Mirkwood, Erebor, Esgaroth, Rohan, and Gondor. Also Moria and the Paths of the Dead. Oh, yes, Dorwinia, too."

"Dorwinia!?" chorused everyone.

Galadriel smiled sweetly. Sometimes she derived such enjoyment out of being prescient. She arose and swept from the room, leaving behind three befuddled Elves and one flummoxed wizard.

"Whatever trouble could he get into in Dorwinia?" wondered Elrond. "The folks thereabouts are famous only for their wine."

"Maybe," puzzled Glorfindel, "he will get into trouble _because_ they are famous for their wine."

"Nonsense," huffed Erestor. "Aragorn has always been very abstemious—unlike certain Elves I could mention!"

"I believe," said Gandalf, now putting on a droll face, "that this conversation is once again dragon."

Erestor arose with a great show of being indignant.

"I have had enough of this discussion and will now return to dealing with more significant matters."

"What could be more significant that the future of the heir to the throne of Gondor?" said Glorfindel. "But I, too, have tasks I must attend to. Elrond and Mithrandir, I leave you both with the honor of conveying instructions to Aragorn as he prepares to depart Imladris on his first unaccompanied quest. Ah, and here is the young Man in question."

"Oh, _thank_ you, Glorfindel," Elrond thought to himself sourly. "Aragorn, mae govannen," he said aloud.

"Good morning, Ada. I have just taken my leave of my Naneth, and now I have come to bid you farewell."

With a shock, Elrond realized that Aragorn had not come to ask his permission or even to seek his blessing. Instead, he was here merely to inform him of his plans, which he meant to put into effect whether or no his foster-father approved. Elrond cleared his throat. He had not been asked for his blessing, but he knew Aragorn nonetheless would be pleased if it were granted.

"Aragorn, ion-nîn, I am glad to know that your plans are complete for this journey. Have you been provided with everything you need, or is there something that I could see to on your behalf?"

"Thank you, Ada, but I have already been to consult the Armorer, and the Cook is even now overseeing the packing of food suitable for the trail."

Elrond's face fell slightly, and he could not entirely hide the disappointment in his voice.

"So there is nothing I can do for you?"

Aragorn smiled fondly at the elf-lord.

"Ada, you have already done everything you could for me, else I would not be prepared to venture forth."

The young Man stepped forward and placed one of his hands upon Elrond's shoulders, and the elf-lord reciprocated before pulling the youth into a hearty hug, much to the surprise of both Aragorn and Gandalf. At last Elrond released the Ranger and stepped back to survey him up and down.

"You look scruffy, Aragorn, but I suppose that is by design, so that you will blend in with Men."

The Dúnadan grinned.

"Of course, Ada," he said airily. "All these years I have been grubby merely in preparation for this day. As Glorfindel has always been at pains to point out, to do anything well requires practice."

"Although," interjected Gandalf, "it helps to have a natural talent or propensity."

Wizard, Elf, and Man joined together in convivial laughter. Then Aragorn sobered.

"Ada, I am leaving tomorrow morning. I make for Bree."

"Ah, as that is so," said Gandalf, "may I be permitted to ask a favor?"

"Of course, Gandalf."

"Make a circuit of the border of The Shire, will you? Touch base with several of the Watchers. Let me know if anything untoward has been observed lately."

"I will, Gandalf."

"When you are in Bree itself, be wary of any of the Ferny clan. Do not speak freely in their presence!"

"Is there anyone in Bree-land whom I should trust in especial?"

"The Barliman kin are reliable to a certainty. They will look askance at you because you are a Ranger, and they do not hold with folks who lead irregular lives with no fixed abodes. Still, they are decent folk incapable of treachery, and if you mention my name, they will try to assist you as much as they can, subject, of course, to the limitations of their imaginations, which are not overlarge, for they can see no further than the borders of their own little land."

"I will remember your advice, Gandalf."

Aragorn turned to leave the room but then remembered something.

"I wish to say farewell to Legolas, but no one knows where he is. Have either of you seen him this day?"

"I have not seen him," replied Elrond, "but I expect that you will find him in a tree."

"How _very_ helpful, Ada, as there are hundreds of trees hereabouts!"

Elrond smiled.

"When Legolas was an elfling, there was one tree in particular, the eldest of oaks, in which he preferred to while away the hours. Do you know the tree whereof I speak?"

"Yes, I know it well."

"Then I suggest you make for that oak. My heart tells me that you shall find him curled up in the embrace of its branches."

Aragorn went out into the grounds of Rivendell and sought out that tree. He peered up into its branches but saw no sign of Legolas. At last he sighed and turned away to go back to the Hall.

"You give up too easily, Aragorn," came a voice from above.

Aragorn glanced up once more into the tree, but still he saw nothing.

"Very well, Greenleaf," he called at last. "You have made your point. Now show yourself!"

The Ranger saw something move and concentrated very hard on that spot. At length he succeeded in making out the shape of his elven friend.

"Legolas, I would swear that you make your skin turn green when you hide thus in a tree."

"'Twould be an unnecessary skill," teased Legolas, "for to hide from you 'tis only necessary to pull up my hood and press my face against a branch. You would miss an Orc if it had the wit to remain still."

"Then let us be thankful that Orcs lack such wit," laughed Aragorn.

Legolas swung down from his branch, landing lightly beside the Dúnadan.

"You are leaving, Aragorn?"

"Yes. I have come to bid you farewell."

"Oh, but you won't be rid of me so easily!"

"What do you mean?"

"I am traveling that way myself. You wouldn't be so rude as to turn down my company?"

Aragorn hesitated. He had prided himself on his resolution to go alone. On the other hand, it might be long before he again had the chance to travel in the company of the elven prince.

"I should be pleased if you would accompany me, Legolas. But what will your father say?"

Legolas grinned.

"Whatever he says, poor Gilglîr will have to bear the brunt of it. For the time being, I am out of my father's reach, and I intend to make the most of it!"

"I thought you had given over running away."

"But I am not running away! I am merely accompanying my comrade and fellow prince on a quest. We royals have to stick together, don't you think?"

"A 'quest' may be laying it on a bit thick, Greenleaf. 'Tis no more than a simple reconnoitering mission."

"Then my father couldn't possibly object!" declared Legolas triumphantly.

Amused, Aragorn shook his head.

"Are you at least going to tell Elrond?"

"I've confided in Mithrandir. He'll tell Elrond after I'm well away."

"You are as cagey as ever, Legolas," chuckled Aragorn.

"And therefore will never be caged," retorted Legolas cheerfully.

With that the two friends went laughing toward the Hall.


	41. Face To Face With The Enemy

**_Grumpy: _I will try to maneuver Aragorn into Dorwinia so that we can find out exactly what sort of trouble he would be capable of getting into in that setting!**

**_Farflung_****_, Kelly Kragen, Joee, _and _Mystwing_I was afraid that I was going a bit too far over the top with the 'knock-knock' jokes, so thanks for mentioning that you liked the language in the previous chapter. I'm sure every culture, even an elven one, must have its equivalent of such jokes. **

**_Dragonfly: _Kind of like watching a child move beyond your ever-present reach by departing for school, right?**

**Beta reader: _Dragonfly: _While she was away, I had no way to check my confusion between 'weigh' and 'weight', but now she is back I no longer have to wait for her to weigh in. Phew! That's a great weight off my shoulders.**

**Thanks to all these reviewers who are starting to reappear after summer vacation. A couple of chapters, there, I was ready to mope!**

**Chapter 41: Face to Face with the Enemy**

"Are you _sure_ Glorfindel meant us to come this way?" grunted Legolas, swatting frantically at the midges that swarmed about his head and crept into his ears, eyes, nose, and mouth.

"Yes," replied Aragorn, equally miserable and trying to pull his boot from the patch of mud into which it had sunk. "Oooof!"

Aragorn's foot had come free of the boot, and he had tumbled over backward, landing on a soggy patch of ground. He stared balefully at the boot and then scrambled back to tug it free of the muck.

"You are certain?" repeated Legolas.

"Yes!" exclaimed Aragorn, exasperated. "That hill must surely have been Weathertop, and we have followed every step of his directions from that point on."

"I agree that the hill was Weathertop—I visited it once long ago when I was an elfling—but I do not remember coming through this marsh. When I went to Bree with Glorfindel, we traveled along the Great East Road. Why did Glorfindel not send us that way?"

"I do not know," began Aragorn, but then he stopped and began to laugh.

"What," demanded Legolas, "is so funny about being eaten alive by midges!?"

"Glorfindel," explained Aragorn, "meant us to come this way, but not because it was the best route!"

"Not because it was the best route?" repeated Legolas, a little more confused than was his wont. No doubt the irksome insects had tormented him to the point at which he was incapable of thinking clearly.

"Don't you see?" explained Aragorn patiently. "Glorfindel knew about this wretched marsh and sent us into it on purpose, as a sort of joke."

"Some joke," grumbled Legolas.

"An initiation then. A warrior's way of welcoming us into his world."

"Less alliteration and more sense, if you please."

"I am making sense," protested Aragorn. "It's just a fond gesture from Glorfindel."

"Fond!? Fond!? I hope he never develops any greater affection for me, or I shall surely perish!"

"Do cheer up, Legolas. We are uncomfortable, but I doubt we are in danger. A few more days of slogging through this slop, and we will climb back out onto dry land."

"What's left of us," muttered Legolas under his breath.

Aragorn was of course right. Three days after that conversation, the two friends stood on dry ground. Legolas heaved a truly enormous sigh of relief.

"Many things I can confront with equanimity—Trolls, Orcs, giant spiders—but midges, I must confess, I cannot abide."

Aragorn looked him up and down and grinned.

"It looks as if you will have to abide them a bit longer."

"What!?"

"Your braids are full of them."

Legolas swore some particularly colorful oaths and insisted that they not take another step until he had undone his braids, combed out his hair, and done them up again. Aragorn didn't mind the delay, for it allowed him to spread out his things to dry. Still, he could not forebear twitting Legolas.

"You might want to clean and file your nails while you're at it," he said with a great show of mock solicitude.

Legolas glared at him but said nothing.

"Is that a spot of dirt on your nose? Would you like me to get it for you?"

Still Legolas said nothing.

"I could pluck your eyebrows, too," Aragorn offered.

Suddenly Aragorn found himself thrown face down upon the ground so abruptly that he hardly knew how he had arrived there. After rubbing the Ranger's face and hair into the dirt, the Elf let him up. Each arose to his feet, and the two stood facing each other. It was Legolas' turn to look Aragorn up and down.

"You look terrible," he announced cheerfully.

Aragorn stared at him in surprise for a moment but then embraced the humor of the situation.

"Thank you for touching up my camouflage," he said with a grin.

"Anytime," replied Legolas, also grinning. The two friends resumed their trek, one comfortably dirty, the other comfortably clean.

Several days later, the two neared Bree-land.

"Before we enter Bree proper," Aragorn told Legolas, "Gandalf wants us to explore the woods thereabouts. He said there may come a day when I need to know where I may take cover on short notice. He also said that there is a Watcher in the woods, from whom I should gather news in order to report back to him."

Elf and Man were on the Great East Road by now but turned off it, heading north. Gandalf had described to Aragorn several places that he knew to be used by Rangers, and one by one they searched for these campsites. Again and again they came to likely spots but found them abandoned, any traces that they had been used hidden so carefully that only an Elf—or another Ranger—would realize that they were campsites at all. At last, however, they arrived at one where a campfire crackled loudly, although no one was about. This surprised them. First, the fire was built higher than was the usual custom of the cautious and frugal Rangers. Second, it had been left unattended, also atypical behavior for a Dúnadan. Moreover, although they saw clothing and weapons that were characteristic of Rangers, these objects were scattered about in a most untidy fashion.

"A Ranger has been here," said Aragorn thoughtfully, "but something is not right."

"I agree," said Legolas, carefully scanning the margins of the glade. "I am going in that direction to reconnoiter a bit."

"And I will go this way, toward that rise."

The two separated and began their search. A short while later, Legolas returned to the campsite, his face troubled. He sounded a bird call. Soon the Ranger rejoined him.

"Aragorn, I have something to show you," the Elf said gravely.

Aragorn followed him into the forest. Several hundred yards in, he found the Elf standing somberly by the side of a Man who lay face down in the leaf litter. The back of his tunic was slashed and bloody.

"He is garbed like a Ranger," said the Elf.

Aragorn knelt beside the body and turned it over.

"Aye," he said, "he is one of the Dúnedain. I have seen him in the company of Halbarad."

"He has been dead for several hours, but the fire was but newly mended," observed Legolas. "His assassin is somewhere hereabouts and plans to return to the campsite."

"Where he will receive a most vigorous welcome," said Aragorn grimly. He brushed several insects from the face of the murdered Ranger and then covered the dead Man with his bloodied cloak. He rose to his feet.

"Shall we burn or bury his body?" he asked.

"We must bury him," said Legolas, "for we do not wish to create a plume of smoke. But," he added, "we must wait until we have dealt with his murderer."

Legolas checked the tautness of his bowstring.

"No," said Aragorn, loosening the sword in his sheath. "I will deal with him—and I want him to see my face."

Legolas kept his own face impassive.

"Very well, Aragorn, but you must permit me to second you."

"No. This is my fight."

"You are a warrior who seeks the necessary destruction of a dangerous enemy—not a child engaged in a grudge match who will suffer no worse than a bloody nose if his strength does not prove the equal of his courage."

"But if you second me that will be two against one. That is not an honorable way to fight."

"This Ranger," Legolas pointed out dispassionately, "was stabbed in the back. His murderer has forfeited any claim he may have had upon your honor and fairness."

"Very well," conceded Aragorn after some hesitation, "but do not intervene unless you must."

"I shall position myself in the forest and will not shoot unless you are in imminent danger," Legolas promised. He then vanished from sight. As for Aragorn, he seated himself by the fire to await the return of the murderer. He did not have long to wait before he heard footsteps and a Man broke from the bushes. He looked momentarily taken aback at seeing Aragorn in the camp, but recovered his countenance quickly. Aragorn saw from his manner of dress that he was a Southron. This did not surprise him.

The Southron was carrying a deer over his shoulder, which accounted for his absence from the camp. Casually, he slung it onto the ground.

"Ah," said the Southron, "a visitor to my campsite."

"Your campsite?" retorted Aragorn. "This is the campsite of one of my kinsmen—and you are not he."

"Mayhap it was once his campsite," sneered the Southron, "but it is no longer. Still, I will do you a favor: I will take you to where he now lies."

He drew his sword with a flourish.

Undaunted, Aragorn arose and drew his.

The Southron looked at the young Ranger and smirked.

"So you mean to afford me a little exercise before dinner. I thank you."

Confidently, he swung at the young Man. Aragorn sidestepped the blow but did not return it.

"Won't stand and fight, eh, boy," taunted the Southron. Aragorn remained impassive. He turned his sword point upward before his face, as if he would bestow a benediction upon it or sought one himself. Watching, Legolas was alarmed. This was not the position for parrying thrusts. Suddenly, however, at a speed that even the Elf could scarcely follow, Aragorn pivoted the sword and thrust forward. The Southron barely succeeded in leaping clear. Surprise showed on his face, and he was momentarily cowed. But he recovered quickly and closed with Aragorn, although his manner was not as casual as it had been only minutes earlier. Soon the forest was filled with the sound of clashing swords.

It was quickly apparent to Legolas that Aragorn, for all his youth, was the better swordsman. Glorfindel had taught him with great diligence, and the youth had paid careful attention to the Elf's lessons. Still, the Southron, a Man in his prime, had the advantage of weight and muscle. He was able to put great power into each blow, and Aragorn could not hope to match him in strength. Nor did he seek to, choosing instead to leap lightly aside, thus transforming each of the Southron's blows into a glancing one. With each swing, Aragorn's foe expended much energy; Aragorn husbanded his. The Southron grew more and more frustrated; Aragorn remained calm. Well before the end of the battle, Legolas had relaxed his grip on his bow, for he could foresee the outcome.

At last the tired and angry Southron both overextended his sword arm and swung too far to the side. Without a moment's hesitation, Aragorn slid his sword into the Southron's belly and jerked sideways as he yanked it back again. The Southron stood stupefied for a moment, staring in disbelief at his abdomen, from which his intestines now protruded. Then his knees gave way, and he crumpled to the ground. Aragorn kicked the sword from his hand to be sure of him, although the gesture hardly seemed necessary. Then he looked up as Legolas emerged from the forest. The Elf walked over to the fallen Southron and studied him.

"He is still breathing, Aragorn."

"I know," Aragorn replied shortly.

"You are not an Orc, Aragorn. Cut his throat swiftly so that he does not linger in pain."

"He deserves to," retorted Aragorn.

"That's not the point, Aragorn, and you know it."

Aragorn relented. He knelt beside his fallen foe, tilted back his head, and cut his throat as cleanly and quickly as he could. To his surprise, the Southron smiled weakly but gratefully at him just as he drove the knife into his neck. Reflecting later upon this incident, Aragorn felt glad that he had listened to Legolas.

The murdered Ranger had been avenged, and a dangerous spy had been eliminated from the environs of Bree-land, not to mention the Shire that lay but a short journey beyond Bree. It now remained to deal with the aftermath. Aragorn dug a grave for the murdered Ranger. Legolas went some distance away and dug a pit for the Southron. Before they lowered the Ranger into his grave, they shrouded him carefully in his cloak so that his face was protected as they filled in the grave. The Southron they left uncovered. They simply placed him in the pit and hastily shoveled dirt upon him. They would never torment a living foe, but they did not feel called upon to take especial care in disposing of a dead one.

After burying the bodies, they returned to the campsite and carefully obliterated any signs that the spot had ever been used by a Ranger. This would allow other Dúnedain to make use of the camp in the future with some hope that no one knew it to be a place that they frequented. Aragorn, though, suspected that he would never feel comfortable camping there.

Legolas, too, was not inclined to remain in the vicinity of the murder and attendant graves. The two were in mutual agreement that it would be best to push on that night to Bree, even though they would arrive at a very late hour.

Even Legolas was weary when they at last walked up to the gates of Bree. He was, however, alert enough to remember to pull up his hood to hide his elven ears. Aragorn, of course, did all the talking.

Even though the night was so far gone that it was in truth closer to dawn than to dusk, the people of Bree still felt reasonably secure in their little town, so the gate-keeper admitted them in spite of the lateness of the hour. Aragorn asked after the Plodding Ploughhorse.

"You mean the Prancing Pony, lad. Now that the Butterbur family owns the inn outright, the name's been changed."

The gate-keeper gave them directions, and Aragorn politely thanked him. Then he and Legolas hastened toward the inn. Plodding Ploughhorse or Prancing Pony, Gandalf had assured the Ranger that the beds were comfortable, the food plentiful, and the ale strong. "You should also," the wizard added, "be able to lay your hands on some very fine pipeweed. Pray bring some back for me."

They had to knock several times upon the door of the inn, but at last a sleepy-faced boy opened it.

"The master's abed," he yawned, "but I'm to show to rooms any gen'l'men wot have coins in their purses."

Aragorn opened the pouch that hung at his belt and pulled out a coin.

"Will this do?"

The boy's eyes widened. The coin was more valuable than any that he assumed a Ranger would carry.

"Aye, master, but ye'd best break that coin as soon as ye may. 'Tis not the sort of thing ye'd want to wave about before some folk wot frequent Bree. Most hereabouts be respec'able people, but there do be a few scoundrels. Well, be it as may, I'll show ye to your rooms now, an' it please ye."

It did please them, and they gladly followed the boy, who told them his name was Rob. He led them up the stairs and gave them the key to a comfortable pair of rooms, one chamber for sitting, the other for sleeping.

"There be no hot food on hand, masters, for the cook has been abed these several hours, but I can bring ye several nice cold dishes and I can draw two flagons o'ale. Or," he grinned, glancing out the window, where a glow could be seen in the east, "ye could just stay up a bit longer an' the cook'll arise to start breakfast!"

Aragorn and Legolas opted for the cold refreshments, and Rob hurried off, quickly returning with cheese, several cuts of meat, bread, and two generous slices of pie. Oh, yes, and two foamy flagons of ale, which, if not especially to Legolas' taste, were very much to Aragorn's. Not standing on ceremony, the two friends devoured these viands, kicked off their boots, and crawled into bed. Legolas, in point of fact, did not even bother washing, something that should have been entered into the annals, so uncommon an occurrence that was. The Elf also for once was totally oblivious to the peculiar aroma that clung to the young human, whether clean or dirty. It is possible that Legolas would have slept soundly that night even if his bedfellow had been an Orc! (Although a Troll would probably have been too much for him to bear, as those creatures _do_ snore so dreadfully.)

It was late afternoon before the Elf and the Ranger awoke. Aragorn would have slept longer, but Legolas, upon waking, began to amuse himself by singing, much to the distress of the human.

"Must you make such a racket, Legolas," the young Man protested into the pillow.

"I'm an Elf," said Legolas gaily. "Singing is what an Elf does."

"And _must_ you be so cheerful!" groaned Aragorn.

"I'm an Elf. Would you rather I were a sullen Dwarf?"

"At the moment, yes!"

"Some bread, meat, and cheese yet remain upon the table in the sitting room. As you prefer to sleep, you no doubt will not mind if I break fast upon these morsels."

Aragorn abruptly sat up and threw aside the covers.

"I'm hungry, too! Leave me something, will you!"

"Never fails," teased Legolas. "Don't you remember that you didn't leave so much as a crumb last night? But at least now you're up."

Aragorn aimed a pillow at the Elf, who easily evaded the soft missile.

"You win, Greenleaf. I am well and truly awake."

"Good. Then let us go down to dine in the common room."

Aragorn looked dubiously at him.

"Shouldn't I ask that some food be sent up instead? 'Twould look odd if you kept your hood up now 'tis daylight, but it wouldn't do for anyone to see your ears. We don't want to attract attention, and an Elf in Bree surely would."

"I will let my hair fall free so that it covers my ears."

"It will then be plain that you wear your hair much longer than most Men do hereabouts."

"Not if I am careful to keep the ends of my hair on the inside of the cloak so that no one is able to see precisely how long it is."

This plan was agreeable to Aragorn, and the two friends descended to the ground floor. Young Rob was nowhere to be seen, but his place had apparently been taken by a lad named Hob, who ushered Aragorn and Legolas to a table in the common room. As they neared it, however, a sneering Man stuck out his leg and tripped Aragorn. His companions laughed. Encouraged, the Man began to taunt the young Ranger.

"You should watch those lanky legs o'yourn, Longshanks. You don' wanter stick 'em in places where they don' belong."

"Or where they in't wanted," shouted another Man. "And since ye be one o'those gangrel Rangers, that'd be most places!"

More laughter.

Aragorn rose silently to his feet, his hands clenched, but he relaxed them when he felt Legolas' warning touch upon his shoulder. Silently, he took a seat with the Elf at their table, and Hob, apologizing for the rudeness of the Man and his friends, hastened to bring them food and drink. After he had served them, Aragorn softly inquired about the Man who had tripped him.

"That one? That's a Ferny. There's always been a Ferny about as long as anyone kin remember, and he's always been a bad un. There's been a William Ferny 'n a Willy Ferny 'n a Billy Ferny 'n a Will Ferny 'n a Bill Ferny."

"Which one is this one?"

"That's Big Bill Ferny. And yonder is his lad, Little Bill Ferny."

Sure enough, an ill-favored urchin was lounging about in the company of Big Bill Ferny and his friends, all of whom looked rather like ruffians.

"Meanin' no disrespect, master," Hob continued, "but our Rob says ye carry a coin wot a Ferny would find en-ti-cing. Ye ought to change it as soon as ever ye may."

"We will change it this very night," Aragorn promised, "in payment for the lodging and food that we have enjoyed thus far."

"Very good, master," replied Hob, who, satisfied, quickly hurried off to wait on other customers.

Aragorn and Legolas now enjoyed their second meal at the Prancing Pony, which was even better than the first for it included several hot dishes. When they had finished, they arose and went to seek out the proprietor to settle up their bill. This worthy individual was of course Butterbur, and the two friends were surprised that he did not melt from the heat of his exertions as he bustled about his establishment. Patiently the Ranger and the Elf waited by the counter near the front of the inn until Butterbur could spare them a moment.

Suddenly Legolas felt a tug upon the small coin pouch that hung upon his belt. Whirling about, he seized the wrist of the youngest Ferny. Keeping a firm grip on the urchin, he slipped out the door of the inn before the boy could cry out for his father. Aragorn followed hard on his heels, and once they were safely in the shadows to the side of the inn, Legolas searched the young rascal.

"Ah hah," he chortled after a minute, handing Aragorn his pouch. "I wonder how long it would have been before you missed it, O vigilant Ranger!"

Aragorn scowled, partly at Legolas, partly at the thief.

Legolas found a quite a few additional pouches on the person of the urchin.

"We'd best give these other ones to Butterbur," he said when he was finished searching the boy. "No doubt he'll be able to reunite them with their owners. Now as for you," he said to the urchin, "should we hand you over with the purses?"

The boy began to blubber.

"No, master, please, no!" he sniveled. "I'll never trouble you again, I swear!"

Aragorn and Legolas exchanged glances. They both doubted that the boy had enough honor to make any oath of his worth more than the weight of the air with which he uttered it. Still, what could they do but let him go? If they handed him over to Butterbur, it was altogether possible that the urchin would receive a beating at the hands of each and every one of the Men whose purses he had stolen. Aragorn shrugged, and Legolas let go of the boy, who immediately scuttled away without a backward glance.

"I wish we could say that we'd seen the last of Little Bill Ferny," said Aragorn, "but somehow I do not think that will be the case. Come. Let us return the purses to Butterbur."

"I will," said Legolas. "It is plain that some Men hereabouts look darkly upon you. If these purses were found upon you, I wouldn't put it past some of them to accuse you of being the one who had stolen them."

Aragorn kept watch while Legolas begged a private word with Butterbur. They disappeared into a side room. When they emerged, Butterbur looked flustered.

"In my own ee-stab-lish-ment!" he kept exclaiming. "In my own ee-stab-lish-ment!"

Then he went from table to table returning the purses and wallets to their owners, provoking shouts that were variously humorous or indignant, depending upon each speaker's character and state of inebriation.

"Hey, Butterbur!" shouted one. "Is that old conjurer about, that our wallets should disappear and reappear so magically?"

"Old conjurer indeed!" thought Legolas indignantly. This was not a respectful way to refer to Mithrandir!

Aragorn looked at him and grinned, shaking his head.

"Not the place to mount a defense of the honor of our friend," he whispered.

"True," Legolas whispered back, "but it seems hard that they show so little respect for someone who guards the safety of their little town."

Aragorn made a wry face.

"I believe that is to be my fate as well, Legolas."

"What do you mean, Aragorn?"

"Novice though I may be, I am still a Ranger. I have heard from Halbarad and now I learn for myself that many a day a Ranger will turn back enemies of Bree-land only to be mocked that same night by the very Men he safeguards."

"Someday," said Legolas stoutly, "the Dúnedain shall receive the credit due them."

"Perhaps," said Aragorn noncommittally. "But I fear that when the accolades do come, many shall no longer be in a position to appreciate them."

Legolas thought sadly of the slain Ranger in the forest and knew that Aragorn's words were all too likely to prove true.


	42. Singing Lesson

**_Fanficfan_****: Thanks for pointing that out. I have a chronic problem with the characters whose names start with 'E'.**

**_Dracademented_****: If you've gotten this far, you have come across Legolas by now. Hope you've continued to enjoy the story.**

**_Kelly Kragen: _Glad you liked the 'You look terrible' line. It's fun trying to see what I can work in from both the book and movie versions, and I love it when readers catch the allusions and quotations.**

**_Dragonfly: _Yes, another allusion to the movie, like the 'You look terrible' line.**

**_Nerwen_****: Thank you. Hope you enjoy the latest chapter.**

**_Joee_****: So a Southron assassin doesn't count as 'real trouble'!?**

**Beta reader: _Dragonfly._**

**Chapter 42: Singing Lesson**

Legolas was singing again. Why, why, why, groaned Aragorn to himself, did Elves have to warble first thing in the morning? The Ranger burrowed his head deeper under his pillow. Of all bedfellows, why did his have to be an Elf?

"Because a Dwarf would be worse," said Legolas cheerfully. "A Dwarf would snore."

Aragorn poked his head out from under his pillow.

"Did I speak aloud?" he said, perplexed.

"No, but you didn't need to. I know you too well, _Estel_."

"Another word from you," growled the Dúnadan, "and you shall find this pillow over your own face."

Aragorn sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Groaning melodramatically, he pulled on his boots and stood up.

"By your leave, Prince Legolas," he said with an exaggerated bow, "I must momentarily depart your presence."

"You mean to scout out the privy, then?"

"Aye, my Lord."

"You have my leave. I trust you shall return with a full account of its situation and appointments."

"Of course, your Highness."

"Very well, then. You may carry on."

Grinning, Aragorn went down the stairs and out behind the back of the inn, where he found the necessary. Afterward, he visited the stables. He and Legolas had come afoot so that their elven steeds would not attract notice, but he had always delighted in horses, and now he stopped to rub the muzzles of several. As he was speaking softly to a mare, a stable boy entered.

"'Ere, you, what'er ye about?" he said suspiciously. "Ye hain't got no horse stabled 'ere."

"True, although I would not hesitate to entrust a mount to this stable. These horses have obviously been well cared for. That would be your doing, would it not?"

The boy's manner changed at once.

"Aye," he said proudly. "I make it my business to see that each and every one is well fed and well housed. Folk do say I have a gift with animals."

"'Tis a good gift. The steeds of the Rohirrim are not cared for better than these horses."

This may have been stretching matters a bit, but the boy squared his shoulders in pride, and Aragorn had acquired his first ally in Bree. In the future, whenever he visited that town, he would always stop first at the stable and have a word with this boy and the other ostlers, who, being a bit rough-edged themselves, admitted him into their councils a little more freely than some of the more substantial residents of Bree would have.

When Aragorn returned to the rooms he shared with Legolas, the Elf wrinkled up his nose.

"You collect odors the way Dwarves collect gold."

"Legolas, I swear you speak more kindly of Orcs than you do Dwarves. Have a care that you do not someday meet a Dwarf who will make you dine upon your words."

Legolas scoffed at the notion that he could ever be bested by one of the Naugrim.

"No Dwarf will ever measure up to an Elf," he jested.

"I think," said Aragorn dryly, "that you needs must enlarge your stock of wit. I am sure that joke was old even in the time of Elendil."

Laughing, the two friends went down to the common room, although they quieted before they entered it. They had no desire to attract undue attention. They had spent the previous day scouting in the vicinity of Bree, and now they meant to eat a quick breakfast before slipping away for the Shire.

Unfortunately, their departure for the Shire was not to be as inconspicuous as they had hoped. Midway through their breakfast, Big Bill Ferny came storming into the common room.

"Hey, you there, Longshanks," he shouted, "my horse is missin'! The brown mare' wi' the white fetlocks"

"Perhaps she has run off," said Aragorn calmly. "That animal looked to be an intelligent one."

There were snickers from the Bree folk in the room, and Ferny turned scarlet. He reached behind him and pulled forward Little Bill Ferny.

"Tell these gen'lmen wot ye saw this very mornin', lil' Bill."

"That 'un," said the urchin, "was in the stable."

"And what of it?" said Butterbur, who had entered the common room carrying a tray of mugs. "'Tis no crime to be in a stable."

"'Ceptin' e' hain't got no horse. Whate'er would he want to be in the stable for?"

"I find the company of horses preferable to that of some Men," replied Aragorn. A wave of laughter swept across the common room. It hardly seemed possible, but Ferny turned even redder than before.

"Horse thief as 'e is, 'e oughter be horsewhipped, that's wot," the scoundrel blustered.

"Have a care, Ferny," warned Butterbur. "'Tain't right to accuse a Man of something without you have proof. It's your hide like to be horsewhipped if you do."

Legolas was sitting rigid with fury, so Butterbur was nearer the mark than he realized.

"He's a Ranger," sneered Ferny. "What more proof do I need?"

There was a murmur from the crowd. The Bree folk seemed to think that Ferny had hit upon a point.

Just then the stable boy entered the common room and marched up to Ferny.

"Bill Ferny," he declared, "the head ostler has sent me to tell ye that, as ye still hain't paid for the two weeks board o' your nag, he has turned her out to graze on the commons. She'll eat no more oats at the expense o' Master Butterbur."

"Hey, now," exclaimed Butterbur, outraged, "who's the thief _now_, I'd like to know!? To take without paying, that's a sort of theft, hain't it?"

Hoots and jeers from the Bree-folk, who were, it seems, as agile at switching sides as an Elf is in skipping from tree to tree.

"Take it out o' his hide," shouted one of these worthies.

"Nay," scowled Butterbur. "I won't take it out o' his hide, but I will take it out in trade. Warn't you a'goin' to muck out the stalls today?" he said to the stable boy.

"Aye, Master," the lad replied, grinning.

"Well, now you needn't. Seems Ferny here has volunteered to take your place."

Cheers from the Bree-landers. Ferny found himself being escorted by an eager mob to the stable, where a pitchfork was pressed into his hands. If he entertained any hopes of slipping off, he was to be disappointed, for a handful of hangers-on lingered about until sundown to watch the show, hoisting tankards that were kept well filled by Butterbur, _gratis_. That worthy innkeeper also waved off Aragorn's attempts to pay for his and Legolas' second night in their chambers.

"Nay, your friend here did me a good turn by returning those purses, else I may have lost the custom of disgruntled patrons reived of their goods. And it grieves me that you were insulted in my very own common room, accused of being a horse thief, no less! You would have been in your rights to have started a brawl, but you didn't. On account o' your forbearance, there be many a bench and many a dish that I shall _not_ have to pay to replace. Keep your silver in token of the gelt you have thereby saved me!"

Aragorn could by no means convince Butterbur to change his mind, and at last the Ranger settled on giving the innkeeper a coin for the stable boy.

"Well, I must say," said Butterbur, impressed by Aragorn's gentlemanly behavior, "that, for all you are a Ranger, you are no ruffian!"

"Thank you," replied Aragorn, who, still gentlemanly, managed to keep any irony from creeping into his voice. When he caught Legolas' attention, however, he rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"I think," said the Elf, as they at last strode away from the town, "that Butterbur's last words to you were a species of 'damning with faint praise'."

"And I am to be his King," grumbled Aragorn. "Hardly seems worth the effort to regain the throne if I am to rule over such folk."

"'Such folk', Aragorn? Are they to be despised because they live in innocence of the evil that gathers outside their little land?"

"Ferny is no innocent."

"I was not speaking of Ferny, but of Men like Butterbur and boys like the lad in the stable. They lead lives of simplicity, taking pleasure in the daily minutiae of their lives, and give no thought to doings outside their ken. But if they are to lead such simple lives, free from care and fear, then simple they must be" (FOTR Bk. II, cap. 2).

"And I am to protect them in all their simplicity?"

"Aye, as one would nurture a flower or a songbird or an infant. These things are all the more cherished for their weakness and fragility, which are not to be viewed as a flaw but as the very source of their beauty."

"So I am to be the rough Ranger so that they can enjoy their bolsters and down comforters? 'Tis a tough, dirty job."

"True," agreed Legolas, "but _somebody_ has to do it—and who better than Isildur's heir?"

Shaking his head bemusedly, Aragorn walked on. After awhile, he spoke thoughtfully, almost wistfully.

"_You_ will be a king someday, Legolas, but you will have the good luck to rule over Elves."

"Mirkwood is a hard place," Legolas observed dispassionately, "even if Elves do dwell there. Do not envy me my realm!"

"And you have always known your father," mused Aragorn.

"Do not envy me my father, neither!" exclaimed Legolas.

"He was very kind to me when I visited Mirkwood."

"He has not always been so kind. He is capable of great anger, especially toward those whom he does not understand."

"I suppose," said Aragorn slowly, "that he is going to be very angry with Gandalf when he finds out that the wizard knew you planned to journey west with me and yet did nothing to stop you."

"Oh, he will not try to harm Mithrandir," said Legolas calmly.

"You don't think so?" said Aragorn doubtfully.

"No," said the Elf, "he would never dream of hurting him. But," he added cheerfully, "only because he will leave it to Edwen Nana to exact vengeance upon Mithrandir!"

Aragorn grinned.

"Not Edwen Nana! Gandalf would probably prefer to face Thranduil!"

"True enough!" exclaimed Legolas. "Do you know, someday I ought to make sure that Mithrandir is trapped in a room with that elleth! What fun that will be for all and sundry!"

"Legolas!"

"Don't worry, Aragorn. I don't mean to set any traps for him in the near future. Anyway, for the time being I can't, as I am not in Mirkwood at the moment. But it is something to think about for the future!"

They walked on quietly for a spell. Legolas, however, was now in an especially merry mood, and at last, provokingly, he began to sing a droll elven ballad. Aragorn bore this in silence for awhile, but after a time he suddenly whipped off his cloak, threw it over Legolas, and bundled him to the ground. Legolas was laughing too hard to resist.

"Will you leave off singing!?" demanded Aragorn, who was now sitting atop the Elf.

"Why the sudden dislike of my melodies?" gasped Legolas between giggles.

"The night before we left Rivendell, Elrond called me to his chamber and said that he had had a dream in which I stood crowned before Minas Tirith singing a song of reconciliation before the Free Folk gathered for the occasion."

"But that's good! He had a vision of your crowning!"

"But I was _singing_," declared Aragorn despairingly. "The ceremony required me to sing! You know that my voice is as nothing compared to that of most mortals, let alone that of an Elf. Why, I would venture that a Periannath would sing better than I would. Indeed, I am sure of it! Whilst we were at the Prancing Pony, I heard a Perian sing a song, melancholy but beautiful, about the end of all things. As he sang, in my mind's eye I saw riders galloping bravely toward their doom."

Legolas had wriggled his head free of Aragorn's cloak and now stared at the Ranger thoughtfully.

"Elrond saw to it that you were trained in archery, swordsmanship, and horseback riding. He made sure that you learned to handle boats, to track your foes, and to heal your friends. He also saw to it that you learned the history of your ancestors, down to the last Chieftain. But he never arranged for you to receive any training in music, did he?"

"No, he did not," said Aragorn miserably. "I think it never occurred to him that I would not naturally be melodious, for singing has ever come naturally to all the Elves with whom he has been surrounded. It is said that Glorfindel sang ballads in the cradle ere he was weaned."

"I have heard that story," said Legolas, "but everything about Glorfindel has become exaggerated over the centuries. Have you ever tried summing up his supposed conquests on the field of love? I do not think there are enough elf-maidens in Arda to account for them all! No, nor enough evenings down through the ages during which he could have engaged in such a multitude of couplings."

"Legolas!" exclaimed Aragorn, scandalized.

"Just do the math, Aragorn. You will see that what I say is true. Perhaps," the Elf added, grinning wickedly, "I should suggest to Erestor that he use Glorfindel's amatory experiences as the basis for several of his devilishly difficult word problems."

Aragorn had released Legolas by now, and they were sitting side by side. The Ranger had to smile at the thought of the tutor composing word problems based upon Glorfindel's exploits with the maidens.

"Yes," he said, "Erestor ought to do that. It would make his lessons in arithmetic so much more interesting. Let me see, now: 'During the Second Age, Glorfindel the balrog-slayer beds nine maidens per fortnight. Given that the Second Age lasts for 3,441 years, by the end of the Second Age, how many maidens has Glorfindel bedded, rounded to the nearest maiden, of course?'"

Legolas laughed so hard that he fell over backwards upon the moss, rather inelegant behavior for an Elf, really.

"I should like to see Erestor's face if someone posed that question to him!"

"I shall do it as soon as we return to Rivendell."

"You wouldn't!"

"Yes," declared Aragorn impishly, "I will!"

"Very well, then, but make sure that I am present. I want to see what he does."

"Probably he will set Glorfindel on me for my impertinence."

"If he does," warned Legolas waggishly, "have a care that the balrog-slayer doesn't fix matters so that you are incapable of any amatory exploits of your own!"

The friends shared a good laugh and then arose to their feet to resume their journey toward the Shire.

"Do you know, Aragorn," Legolas said as they walked, "I believe I can help you to improve your singing voice somewhat. If you really must stand before Minas Tirith someday and sing, it wouldn't do to croak like a Troll."

"Is my voice that bad!?" exclaimed Aragorn in consternation.

"No, not _that_ bad," conceded the Elf, "but you would benefit from a few lessons, I think. In exchange, you could be my sparring partner. Your swordsmanship far exceeds mine."

"Do you really think so?" said Aragorn.

"Yes, I really think so. I am the master of two-handed knife work, but you are going to be the most celebrated swordsman of the Third Age. I think Elrond saw this in you, and that it why he believes that it is for you that the shards of Narsil will be reforged."

Touched at the words of praise from the Elf, Aragorn gladly accepted Legolas' offer of singing lessons in exchange for sword practice. Mutually grateful, the two friends strode on contentedly.


	43. Fireworks, Gandalf, Fireworks!

**_Joee: _****I should have known you would want to see Aragorn torment Erestor by posing that word problem. You are incorrigible!**

**_The essence of popsicles:_ Yes, Aragorn sings at those two points, and now we know how he was able to do so!**

**_Kelly Kragen: _Oh, great! both you and _Joee_ want me to show Aragorn posing that word problem to Erestor! (Author runs away and hides.) About 'maths': it's dialectical. UK dialects of English use 'maths'. US dialects of English use 'math'. It's kind of like the way 'jumper' in a UK dialect means a pullover sweater whereas 'jumper' in a US dialect usually means a sleeveless dress worn with a blouse underneath. The versions of English have been slowly and steadily diverging. If the divergence ever becomes great enough, voila! different languages altogether. However, because of the printing press and the invention of radio, television, and etc., that won't be happening for a looooong time.**

**_Dragonfly: _Yes, I love seeing Big Bill Ferny getting his comeuppance.**

**_Grumpy: _Hmmm, I wonder if I should write a story in which Aragorn adopts the misguided notion of trying to woo Arwen by singing to her.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_, diva of Diet Dr. Pepper.**

**WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! THIS CHAPTER IS VERY SILLY AND TAKES GREAT LIBERTIES WITH THE PERSON OF GANDALF THE GREY. IF YOU PREFER YOUR WIZARD PURE AND CANONICAL, DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER! (On the other hand, the chapter does not exceed PG-13, and at least one line was funny enough to cause my Beta Reader to snort Diet Dr. Pepper out her nose. Sorry, _Dragonfly_, couldn't resist including that detail.)**

**Chapter 43****: Fireworks, Gandalf, Fireworks!**

At about the time Aragorn and Legolas were wrestling over the matter of Aragorn's singing voice, or lack thereof, Gandalf the Grey was strolling up to the entrance of the Great Hall of King Thranduil of Mirkwood. He was well known there by now, and the guards readily admitted him to the comfort of an antechamber whilst they sent word to Gilglîr of the wizard's arrival. The Seneschal, hoping that Gandalf had news of Legolas, hastened to greet him.

"Mithrandir, mae govannen, mellon-nîn!"

"Thank you, Gilglîr. It does this old Man good to receive such an open-hearted welcome."

"Old Man? I see no old Man before me but a wizard at the peak of his powers!"

"And therefore an old Man. You needn't flatter me, Gilglîr."

"Ah, but compared to Elrond and Thranduil, you are a mere child, Mithrandir."

"Only with respect to my present form. I have not always been a Man; no, nor will I always be one."

"I have always wanted to ask you, Mithrandir, if it wouldn't be too impertinent, whether you mind being a Man."

"There are worse things than being a Man."

"True, but don't you sometimes wish that you had been given another form?"

"If you mean, do I wish I had been sent to Middle Earth as an Elf, no, I don't."

Gilglîr could not hide his surprise. It seemed to him that being a graceful and immortal Elf would be far preferable to being a clumsy and mortal Man.

"It is true," Gandalf went on, "that Elves are more powerful and agile and have keener senses. It is also true that they do not suffer from the elements as Men do. However, if I were an Elf, I could hardly go about amongst Men as I do, and my mission is more to Men than to Elves."

"So it is more convenient for you to be a Man."

"Yes."

"But if you could have chosen," began Gilglîr.

"Then I probably wouldn't be here at all," said Gandalf sharply.

Gilglîr wisely let the matter drop.

"You have come from Imladris, have you not, Mithrandir?"

"Yes, by way of Lothlórien."

"Legolas accompanied you to Imladris."

"True."

"You have news of him?"

"Yes."

"Thranduil will be glad of that."

"Perhaps," said Gandalf noncommittally.

"But you left Legolas well, did you not?" said Gilglîr, beginning to be a little worried.

"It would be more accurate to say that Legolas left _me_ well."

Gilglîr looked alarmed.

"Then he departed Imladris before you? Was he alone?"

"No, he is accompanied by Aragorn."

"Aragorn?"

"Ah, I had forgot. You know him as Estel."

"Estel? Oh, yes, that dear little man-child."

"He may still be dear to some, but he is no longer little."

Gilglîr digested this bit of information, trying to decide if it was good news or ill.

"So," he said slowly, "Estel is a Man."

"Yes, he is of Man kind, and he is for all intents and purposes full-grown, so he is a Man in that sense, too."

"Is he a skilled warrior?" asked Gilglîr anxiously.

"An excellent fighter with both sword and bow."

"But not reckless?"

"No, not at all reckless."

"So he is not likely to lead Legolas into danger."

"I did not say _that_."

"Mithrandir," cried Gilglîr in frustration, "I hope you know that if Estel gets Legolas into trouble, _you_ are going to be in a great deal of danger yourself! Thranduil will be furious."

Gandalf did not look at all disconcerted.

"My friend, Thranduil could not _possibly_ do anything worse to me than I have already experienced during my centuries in Middle Earth. Starvation. Bone-chilling cold. Blows to the head. Broken bones. Sword thrusts. A tumble off a cliff. Warg bites. Troll breath. Goblin spittle."

"He'll, he'll, he'll—set your beard on fire, that's what he'll do," spluttered Gilglîr.

"Singed beard? Pah, that's nothing! Lost my eyebrows once, too. Particularly nasty dragon, that was."

Gilglîr had a sudden inspiration.

"I know what the King will do," he said darkly. "He holds in reserve a torment far worse than any of these."

"And what may that be?" said Gandalf carelessly.

"Edwen Nana!" proclaimed Gilglîr triumphantly.

Gandalf blanched. Seeing his reaction, Gilglîr could not help but burst into laughter.

"No, no," he hastened to reassure the wizard. "Thranduil would not do anything so dreadful as _that_! But mind you," he added, "if he did, it would be no more than you deserve!"

Gandalf had recovered his countenance by then and swore that he was more than a match for the elven nursemaid. Gilglîr thought otherwise but let the matter drop, and the two friends strolled off toward Thranduil's private chamber.

"Ah, Mithrandir, my friend," beamed Thranduil when Gilglîr announced the wizard. "You are very welcome here!"

"Thank you," the wizard replied. "And I am very glad to be here, very glad indeed."

"You have but recently come from Imladris, is that not so?"

"That is true."

"Whilst you were there, you must have seen much of my son."

"That is also true."

Thranduil waited expectantly for Gandalf to tell him of his son, but the wizard made no move to do so. Several minutes passed during which the Istar stood cheerfully before the fire, stretching his hands toward its warmth. At last Thranduil cleared his throat.

"Mithrandir, I don't suppose there is anything you'd like to tell me."

"Tell you? About what?"

"My son!" exclaimed Thranduil in exasperation.

"Ah, yes. Legolas, of course. He is probably well."

"Probably?"

"My dear Thranduil, as he is no longer in my company, I can no longer speak with any certainty. He was well when we parted. I can say nothing further on that score."

"Gilglîr," Thranduil said in a threatening tone, "fetch Edwen Nana here. Be sure that she brings with her the staff she has been treasuring up these many months."

"Of course," Gandalf resumed hastily, "although it is true philosophically speaking—particularly in terms of epistemology—that I can give you no _certain_ news of your son, speaking as a _practical_ matter, I can probably satisfy your curiosity. But you must remember that I can speak only in terms of possibilities and probabilities! What would you like to know?"

"Of his well-being and whereabouts—and in plain speech," growled Thranduil.

"As I have said, he was well when we parted, and it is both possible and probable that he is still well, as he is quite healthy and was not traveling toward exceptionally dangerous regions. Remember, however, that I cannot be cert—"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Thranduil impatiently. "These regions—what are they called?"

"He means to visit both Bree-land and the Shire."

Thranduil wrinkled his forehead. He was not particularly familiar with the lands of mortals, save for the ones closest to his own kingdom.

"Bree-land? Shire?"

"_The_ Shire," said Gandalf. Thranduil ignored the correction.

"Mithrandir, where are these lands in relation to Imladris?"

"Not far."

"I mean in terms of direction!" cried Thranduil.

"Oh, well, if _that's_ what you mean—to the west."

"To the west! But that would carry him further from Greenwood. Why is he not journeying east, as you have done!?"

Gilglîr decided it might be time to interject himself into the debate.

"Thranduil, we have talked about how desirable it is for a future king to familiarize himself with various lands and peoples."

"Yes—hereabouts. He ought to be well acquainted with Erebor and Esgaroth because we have dealings with the folk of those lands. But Bree-land and Shire? What are they to us?"

"Unlikely as it may seem, Thranduil," said Gandalf, "it will someday be vital that Legolas be conversant with and comfortable amongst many peoples, and not Elves alone."

"He will be King of Mirkwood, not of Bree-land and Shire," growled Thranduil. "Why should he go amongst these foreigners? Let his servants take that duty upon themselves! No, I see no reason for Legolas to set foot outside the boundaries of this land. And, truly, Mithrandir, I take it ill that you encourage his wandering when you know that I am opposed to it."

"I did nothing to encourage him, Thranduil."

"Perhaps not, but I warrant you did nothing to _dis_courage him."

"True enough, but I am under no obligation to act as your agent with regards to your son."

The two friends were at a stalemate and glared at each other for several minutes. At last Gilglîr carefully cleared his throat.

"If you two will stop staring daggers at each other, we might proceed to the dining hall. I am sure the Cook has prepared an excellent repast."

"A most worthy plan," cried Gandalf promptly. "It has been several days since my last good meal. I trust, Thranduil, that your larders are as well stocked as usual. And your wine cellar, there is no dearth there, I hope."

Still exasperated, Thranduil shook his head, but the tension was broken. The Elf had been standing rigid, but now he relaxed his shoulders and smiled wanly at Gandalf.

"Mellon-nîn, why do you take such delight in these verbal sparring matches?"

"Keeps my wits sharp," replied the wizard.

"Ah, but have a care that someday the retort you receive does not take the form of a sword thrust! A tongue can be sharp, but our enemies prefer to wield other, deadlier weapons."

"But you are not my enemy," Gandalf pointed out.

"Have a care you do not make me one," warned Thranduil. He smiled as he spoke, but his voice carried a warning.

Gandalf regarded him gravely.

"No, I would not want you as my enemy."

"I am glad to hear you say that, as I should be sorry to number myself amongst your foes."

"Of which you already have too many," offered Gilglîr.

"All too true," conceded Gandalf.

By this time they were nearing the dining hall, and they were joined by Tathar, Tawarmaenas, and Edwen Nana.

"Mithrandir!" cried Tawarmaenas in delight. "Now we shall hear news of Legolas, is that not so!?"

Mindful that Edwen Nana was glowering at him, Gandalf hastily replied that, yes, he had news of the Prince. Thranduil and Gilglîr both smirked at his discomfort. The party proceeded into the dining hall, where Gandalf, between mouthfuls of a meal that was indeed first-rate, both for the quantity and the quality of the food, regaled his tablemates with droll accounts of the doings of Legolas, careful to minimize any details that would suggest that the young Elf had ever been in any real danger. Thranduil, however, who was nothing if not shrewd, was able to gather that his son had by no means been out for a stroll in the park.

"Soooo, Mithrandir," he said at last, "you and Legolas shared a horse for a time. Why was that?"

"Oh," said Mithrandir casually, "there were not enough horses to go around."

"But Legolas can run so lightly, I am surprised he did not simply keep pace with the horses whilst on foot. You were, after all, in the Misty Mountains, and on such broken terrain, the horses could hardly have been galloping. Indeed, Legolas could have probably gone faster afoot than on horse."

"Oh, very well, Thranduil! As you have so astutely surmised, Legolas was injured."

"But why was he not simply given a horse? Were you injured, too, so that you were in need of a mount as well?"

Mithrandir sighed resignedly.

"Aside from the indignity of an arrow through my hat, I suffered no wounds. As for Legolas, his injury was in itself not serious, but it became infected. I assure you that, once Elrond and I had tended to it, he improved steadily and was soon out of danger."

"You and Elrond tended to him?"

"Yes. I reached him first and cleaned and rebound his wound. Later Elrond came out to meet us—he had been summoned by Estel—and he carried with him a great stock of herbs and nostrums. Legolas improved quite rapidly once Elrond reached our camp and was soon altogether out of danger."

Mithrandir looked about the table as he spoke and was surprised to find Edwen Nana smiling at him. Apparently the nursemaid was touched at the thought of the wizard riding with an injured Legolas carefully held before him. Gandalf was a little taken aback to find himself in the good graces of the redoubtable elleth, but after a moment's hesitation, he sent a wan and wary smile her way.

Later that evening he was poking at the fire in his chamber when he heard a knock upon the door.

"Enter," he called. The door swung open, and there stood Edwen Nana.

"Ah," he said a trifle nervously, "to what do I owe the honor of this visit, Madam?"

"Now, Mithrandir," she said severely, "you know that it is my office to look to the comfort of all guests and to see that they have all that is needful."

"Of course, Madam. I had forgot."

"May I come in?"

"You do not have a staff anywhere about your person, do you?" asked Gandalf anxiously.

"I believe you are the only one equipped with a staff at the moment," said Edwen Nana demurely.

"Ah, in that case, do come in," said Gandalf. "And shut the door behind you," he added, a gleam suddenly kindling in his eyes.

Once inside, Edwen Nana looked disdainfully upon his attempts to mend the fire.

"Truly, Mithrandir, you are like to smother that fire rather than revive it. Let me see to it."

Gandalf meekly stood aside, and soon the elleth had the fire crackling merrily once again.

"There," she said triumphantly. "Now I will tidy up your room a bit."

"Truly, Edwen Nana, you needn't trouble yourself."

"Hmmph!" she snorted. "If I don't, soon you will be unable to walk about this room without stumbling. If you are such a powerful wizard, why cannot you command your garments to fold themselves?"

"Madam," Gandalf said with great dignity, "I do not concern myself with trifles."

"Then whatever are your powers good for, I'd like to know!? Those 'trifles', as you call them, are what make life tolerable. Warm, hearty meals. Water for bathing. Comfortable clothes. Clean shelters in good repair. No one writes poems about such as these, but take them away, and we may as well cast in our lot with the Orcs. Indeed, if it be true that Orcs and Elves share a distant kinship, then I believe it is altogether likely that an Orc is none other than an Elf ill-bred, ill-fed, ill-clad, and ill-housed."

"Madam!" exclaimed Gandalf, shocked. But as he spoke, he could not help but wonder whether there was any truth to what she said. He also had a sudden vision of what would happen were the nursemaid to be presented with an injured orcling.

"She'd probably tend to it," he mused to himself. "Bathe it, dress its wounds, feed it nourishing food. And the Valar help anyone who tried to do it harm whilst it was in her care!"

Aloud he merely said, "I do not wish to denigrate your skills, Edwen Nana, but my mission is rather important, and it prevents me from being ever mindful of more mundane matters."

"Yet if no one looked to these supposedly mundane matters, you would be incapable of performing your precious mission. Wizard though you be, an Orc would make short work of you if you were fainting from hunger."

Gandalf was forced to acknowledge the rightness of her claim. Nettled at having to yield a point, he snatched up his staff and pointed it at the fire, causing the flames to roar fiercely.

Edwen Nana scoffed at the display.

"Really, Mithrandir, is that the best you can do—causing a flame to flare briefly?"

"This chamber," Gandalf retorted indignantly, "is much too small for a proper demonstration of my powers. Were it larger, you would see some fireworks!"

"Fireworks, Mithrandir? You lack imagination. Surely you can see that this chamber is large enough for an exhibition of fireworks."

Gandalf arose to the challenge. He was still holding his staff, and now he used it to extinguish the fire, throwing the chamber into darkness. Not intimidated in the least, Edwen Nana felt about the room until she laid her hand upon Gandalf's staff, and a wrestling match ensued.

The next morning Gandalf arrived late for breakfast. This in itself was not remarkable, for Gandalf was not known for being on time (although he always insisted that a wizard was never late and never early but arrived exactly when he meant to). Oddly enough, however, Edwen Nana arrived late as well, and this was not a common event. Moreover, she was not her typically well-groomed self. Her hair was unusually disheveled. As for Gandalf's appearance, well, he was habitually disheveled, but this morning he seemed even more so, although that would have hardly seemed possible.

As the day progressed, it was noticed that both wizard and elleth seemed rather tired for individuals who had each presumably retired at a decent hour. At the end of the day, after the evening meal, Thranduil invited family and friends to his private chamber, where Gandalf and Edwen Nana, once they were settled into comfortable chairs, both promptly fell asleep.

"Uncle," said Tawarmaenas worriedly, "you don't suppose Mithrandir and Edwen Nana are ill, do you? They have both seemed rather weary today. Nana did not even notice that you spilled wine upon the tablecloth, and Mithrandir did not rise to the defense of the Lord of Imladris when you scoffed that he wears his diadem more than is needful."

Thranduil looked carefully at the two sleepers. They both looked very relaxed, hardly what one would expect if either were in discomfort. Moreover, even in their sleep, they both sported identical smiles, expressions that were a mix of silly and satisfied.

"They certainly do not appear to be unhappy or in pain," observed the King of Mirkwood.

Just then Edwen Nana stirred in her sleep and murmured something.

"Fireworks, Gandalf, fireworks," she said, her smile growing wider.

Tawarmaenas looked mystified, Thranduil horrified, and Gilglîr and Tathar edified.

"I did not know that Nana ever addressed Mithrandir by his mannish name," said Tawarmaenas, "and I did not know that he had ever put on a display of fireworks in her presence."

Tathar made a choking sound, and Gilglîr hit him between the shoulders, although perhaps rather harder than necessary.

Now Gandalf moaned a little and shifted in his chair.

"Uncle," cried Tawarmaenas, alarmed, "truly, Mithrandir is ill! He is moaning!"

Gandalf groaned.

"And groaning!"

"Mmmmmm," moaned Gandalf.

"Uncle!"

"Oooooooh," groaned Gandalf.

"UNCLE!"

Tawarmaenas was staring at Gandalf in a panic. As for Tathar, he was now bent completely double, clutching at his belly as if he, too, were in pain. Gilglîr spoke then, his voice carefully controlled.

"I think, Thranduil, that we should send these two young Elves away so that we may properly deal with, ah, whatever ails Mithrandir and Edwen Nana."

"YES," cried Gandalf, "Oh, yes!"

With that, Gilglîr seized both Tathar and Tawarmaenas by the tunics and bodily thrust them from the room, Tathar protesting all the while. Once Gilglîr had forced the younger Elves out the door and shut and locked it, he picked up the heaviest tome he could find, and, standing between the chairs of the two sleepers, he dropped this volume from shoulder height. Edwen Nana and Gandalf both startled awake.

"I was having a good dream," muttered Edwen Nana, aggrieved.

"A very good dream," agreed Gandalf, similarly aggrieved.

Thranduil finally found his voice.

"Mithrandir, I'm shocked! _shocked_ to find that love-making is going on in here."

"Ah, that reminds me, Thranduil," interrupted Gilglîr. "The elleth who has but lately joined the seamstresses sends word that, yes, she would be glad to spend another night 'measuring' you, given the difficulty of ascertaining the exact length of the body part in question."

Elves are not much given to blushing, but it is a delightful fact that, when they well and truly do, the rosy color extends to the very tips of their pointed ears. This was now the case with Thranduil.

"Oh ho!" teased Gandalf, "you had better not round up the usual suspects, lest you be caught up in your own net!"

"But, Mithrandir," Thranduil protested, "your behavior has been undignified."

"In case it has escaped your attention," said Gandalf calmly, "I have been sent to Middle Earth in the form of a Man. The Valar are in the details, and I come fully equipped in all things."

"Do not speak to me of 'things'!" spluttered Thranduil.

"Your pardon. I intended no pun. What I meant was, the Valar sent me to Middle Earth as a Man, and how can you fault me for behaving like one?"

"Well, you could be a little more discreet," grumbled Thranduil. Suddenly he smirked. "Indeed, yes!" he continued. "You could be very much more discreet. For shame, Mithrandir, at the state of your garments! One would think you a man-child but newly introduced to leggings and still inclined to mess them upon occasion."

Nonplussed, the wizard looked down his front and was dreadfully disconcerted to discover that Thranduil was quite correct about his clothing—it was embarrassingly evident that he had 'messed' them.

Edwen Nana had been keeping uncharacteristically quiet during this entire exchange, but at last she saw scope for the exercise of her talents.

"Now don't you fret, Master Mithrandir," she reassured the mortified wizard. "I'll mend your situation. Just you let me take you in hand."

"I mean," she added hastily at a snort from Gilglîr, "I'll see to his wardrobe. Mithrandir," she continued, turning again to the Istar, "I'll have you out of your clothes in no time."

At this, both Gilglîr and Thranduil guffawed. Gandalf was now blushing as furiously as Thranduil had been earlier. He drew his robes tightly about him, and, mustering the tiny shred of dignity that still remained to him, he stomped from the room, making for his own chamber with all possible haste. Edwen Nana scurried in his wake, apologizing profusely. Whether she did 'take him in hand' is not known, but Mithrandir did appear at breakfast the next morning in new garments, not only a new robe, but also a new tunic and fresh leggings.

For the remainder of the wizard's stay in Mirkwood, Thranduil perhaps took excessive delight in periodically making a great show of asking Mithrandir whether he didn't need a change of leggings. Each time the poor wizard would involuntarily glance down his front and then raise his head scowling. Thranduil only left off tormenting the Istar when Gilglîr warned him that the wizard looked as if he could barely restrain himself from setting the King's leggings on fire.

"Very well," said Thranduil. "I'll let the matter drop. I suppose I've properly paid him back for all the worry he has caused me on account of my son."

"Indeed, you have, Thranduil—more than paid him back!"

It must be noted that from this time on, whenever Legolas absented himself from Mirkwood, Gandalf did dispatch regular messages to Thranduil apprising him of his son's health and well-being. Of course, there _was_ one time when Gandalf abandoned this practice. That would be the occasion when Legolas, Gandalf, and seven others journeyed far to the south. However, no doubt Gandalf could be excused for this lapse, as his own health and well-being during this time were hardly assured. In any event, so relieved was Thranduil when his son at last returned from this quest, that he never spoke a word of rebuke to the wizard. It was, however, noted that on that occasion the King presented Gandalf with two score pairs of snow-white leggings, a gift that seemed equally amusing to both the giver and the receiver. Whether this gift be coincidental or not, I leave you to judge.


	44. Sleeping Arrangements

**_Dragonfly: _Ah, but in the end Thranduil _does _worm the truth out of Gandalf, so there is a limit to even a wizard's wit.**

**_Andi_****_-Black: _Goodness! Good thing you and _Dragonfly_ were drinking soda rather than eating pretzels! I don't want to be responsible for choking anyone!**

**_Kelly Kragen: _Yes, I guess the previous chapter was inevitable. Couldn't tantalize people repeatedly without 'delivering'. You are right about Aragorn singing: In the book version of the FOTR, he sings when he, Gimli, and Legolas send the body of Boromir off in the boat over the falls of Rauros. In the extended edition of the movie FOTR, he sings a song about a Man and his elven beloved when he and the Hobbits camp one night in the Midgewater Marshes. In the movie ROTK, he of course sings at his coronation. Mortensen's singing voice is OK, but I think Billy Boyd's is much better. Pippin's song was stunning, especially the way it was intercut with Faramir's doomed cavalry charge. If Oscars were given to individual scenes in movies, that scene deserves one. Oh, yes, and you are welcome for the info. about 'jumpers', and etc.**

**_Legosgurl:_**** Someday I will have to write a chapter in which Thranduil reacts to the news that Elrond has appointed Legolas to the Fellowship as the representative of the Elves.**

**_Joee:_**** Thanks! Here's your update.**

**_Grumpy: _I will have to write a chapter or a story in which Aragorn sings to Arwen.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly._**

**Chapter 44: Sleeping Arrangements**

Legolas and Aragorn stood at the margin of the Old Forest, staring beneath its mossy branches into the dense, tangled undergrowth.

"So Gandalf insists that we should approach the Hobbits' domain through the Old Forest," said Aragorn doubtfully. "Do spiders lurk within it?"

"Only little ones," Legolas assured him.

"Non-poisonous?"

"I cannot testify to that, having never been bitten by an Old Forest spider. I think, though, that the perils of these woods are more akin to those that one encounters in Fangorn Forest."

"Wonderful," groaned Aragorn. "Fangorn Forest, home of the worst-tempered trees in Middle Earth."

"I am not so sure of that," said Legolas thoughtfully. "There is one willow in the Old Forest who is at least the match of any tree in Fangorn Forest."

"Oh, thank you very much, Legolas. I feel _soooo_ much better!"

Legolas grinned.

"Always glad to do what I can, Estel."

"Very well! If that is the case, _you_ may lead the way."

"Certainly. Before we set foot in the forest, though, I must warn you: do not stray so much as a step from the path! If you do, you will never regain it."

Aragorn looked at him skeptically.

"Legolas, I am not a child to be frightened by the tales of old wives."

"Truly, Aragorn, I do not jest. Given the least opportunity, the path will flee from you, leaving you standing in the middle of a trackless forest. I know whereof I speak, for I became lost in these woods when I was an elfling and accompanied Mithrandir to Buckland."

Aragorn looked interested.

"You and Gandalf were lost in the Old Forest?"

"No, only I was lost. I wandered away from Mithrandir and could not find my way back to him."

"How did he recover you?"

"He sent a friend in search of me, one who dwells hereabouts and over whom the forest has no power. I wonder if we shall encounter him," Legolas mused. "He was a most singular individual. I think Elrond would delight in his company. I know Mithrandir did."

"What is his name?"

"He called himself Tom Bombadil, but Mithrandir told me that he is known by many names—like you, Estel!"

As they had been talking, they had been making their way down the path, and Aragorn looked about with increasing interest.

"I am no Elf, Legolas, but almost I feel as if I can hear these trees murmuring."

Legolas nodded.

"You are right, Aragorn. They are wide awake and watchful."

"But not unfriendly."

"No, not unfriendly. Not those near us, at any rate. I sense some disquiet further on, closer to Buckland."

Legolas suddenly froze.

"Someone approaches—no! do not draw your sword!"

The two friends stood quite still, breathing shallowly and listening intently. At last Legolas relaxed.

"Ah, now I know why the trees hereabouts are in a genial mood. Tom Bombadil is near, and his good humor has rubbed off upon them."

"How do you know?" asked Aragorn, puzzled.

"Can you not hear—oh, I had forgot: I have the better hearing. But listen a minute and soon you shall hear as well."

Aragorn concentrated intently, willing his ears to gather in the slightest sound, and soon he heard it, too—a merry song swooping between the tree trunks and floating above the branches.

Hey dol derry dol down!

No need for Hope to frown!

No spiders in these trees,

Let young Hope be at ease!

Hey dol derry dol down!

Hey dol derry dol down a'day!

Welcome to folk who come this way!

Greenleaf and Hope, put aside fear,

A welcoming hearth you'll find near!

Hey dol derry dol down a'day!

"He knows who we are," marveled Aragorn. "Has he a magic mirror, like Galadriel?"

"The trees speak to him, I think. Also, no doubt Mithrandir sent him word of our coming. I believe he and Mithrandir are great friends."

The bushes rustled, and out stepped a lively and quaint individual, all blues and browns, his face wrinkled yet ageless, his ruddy cheeks o'erspread with a cheerful smile that reached to the crinkles in the corners of his bright eyes.

"Oh ho! Legolas Thranduilion, have you come to renew your acquaintance with Old Man Willow? Methinks he would be very glad to see _you_!"

"Has he improved in temper these past centuries?"

"Improved? If you mean, has his temper developed and grown, why, then, yes, he has improved his temper!"

"In that case, I think I shall pass on renewing my acquaintance with the irascible old fellow!"

"Shall I introduce your friend to him, then—after you have introduced him to me first, of course."

"Ah, my pardon. Master Tom Bombadil, may I present to you Aragorn son of Arathorn, foster-son of Elrond, Lord of Imladris. Aragorn, to you I present Master Tom Bombadil, Oldest and Fatherless, Iarwain Ben-adar to the Eldar, Orald to your kin, the Men of the North."

Aragorn bowed gravely to Orald the Oldest, but Tom Bombadil waved off his bow, his eyes twinkling.

"So, Estel, you have a mind to see the lands of the Periannath."

"I will travel as far as Buckland, Master Bombadil, but only Legolas will cross the Baranduin into the Shire proper."

"On the advice of Mithrandir, no doubt."

"Yes, Master Bombadil."

"Tom will do. I am a Master, but I am the master of no one, as no one is the master of me. But say on!"

"Legolas," Aragorn continued, "has an errand to a friend of Gandalf who dwells in Hobbiton. If I accompany him, I may attract undue attention to this friend. Legolas can be more—discreet."

"Yes. Ranger though you be, our Greenleaf here will still slip in and out of Hobbiton more quietly than ever you could. But do not fret, Estel. There will come a time when you will walk openly before the eyes of all. And now, would you like to make the acquaintance of Old Man Willow?"

"Should I?" asked Aragorn cautiously.

"Yes," Tom Bombadil said cheerfully but firmly. "No doubt but that you will be slipping in and out of the Old Forest frequently in the future, and Tom will not always be on hand to guide you. I would introduce you not only to old grey Willow-man but to many other of the trees. You should know whom to avoid and whom to go to for aid."

The remainder of that day, Tom Bombadil led Aragorn and Legolas on a meandering outing through the Old Forest. They stopped to greet some trees, Tom fondly patting their bark and singing his greetings; others they gazed at from a respectful distance as Tom shared his tales of the mischievous or even malicious exploits of said trees.

"Now this oak here," he said, pointing to a particularly gnarled and ancient specimen, "I have known him since he was not much more than an acorn. He was good-tempered as a sapling. 'Tis true he did like to flick acorns at passersby, but no more than most young oaks do. His heart began to go rotten when, proud of his height and strength, he began to grudge sharing his acorns with the squirrels—odd considering that only a few years earlier he had been tossing the nuts away for amusement! Pride is truly a most peculiar thing! The squirrels of course resented his parsimony and took delight in stripping his leaves to pay him back for it. The quarrel has grown worse and worse over the centuries, and now Old Man Oak is as bitter a tree as any in the Old Forest save Old Man Willow himself. So I bid you to remember that you must never, ever take shelter in Old Man Oak's hollow trunk. It looks welcoming, as large and well-sheltered as it is, but Old Man Oak has a nasty habit of closing his trunk up tight as soon as the traveler has comfortably settled himself. Then he pelts his unfortunate prisoner with acorns for as long as it takes for a squirrel or a bird to bring me word that someone wants rescuing. Many a traveler has come out from within that trunk all covered with knots and bruises! Heed me well!"

Both Legolas and Aragorn assured him that they would, and Tom Bombadil led them on. At length they came to the famous Old Man Willow himself, who appeared to be drowsing in the warm afternoon sun, his drooping branches soughing in the breeze. The ancient willow was a clever one, however, and he was actually wide awake, hoping that his quiescence would lure the unwary into coming near. In part he succeeded, for Aragorn, curious, took a step closer to the tree of which he had heard so much. The wily willow instantly shot out one of its branches, which wrapped itself like a tentacle around Aragorn's ankle. The young Man found himself yanked off his feet and dragged toward the willow. Legolas gave a yell and leaped after him, but he was knocked backward by another one of the willow's powerful limbs. Only at the command of Tom Bombadil did the willow release Aragorn, albeit by dropping him abruptly onto his head. Dazed, he arose and staggered away from the tree, which could not resist swatting him on the bottom as he retreated. "Hey!" shouted Aragorn indignantly, but Tom Bombadil only laughed.

"That'll serve you, young sir. Do not underestimate the power of a tree!"

"I will never make the same mistake," swore Aragorn, ruefully rubbing his head.

Their tour of the Old Forest at an end for the day, Tom Bombadil led his guests to his cottage, where his spouse Goldberry awaited with a smile and good cheer. That evening Tom and Goldberry presided over a merry feast of such foods as the forest and its meadows furnished: fruits and berries, herbs and roots, washed down with water as sweet and heady as the finest wine.

The next day they resumed their tour of the Old Forest. The morning after, satisfied that his guests would be able to safely navigate the Old Forest upon their return, Tom Bombadil led Elf and Ranger to a tunnel that led under the tall, thick hedge, the High Hay, that separated the Old Forest from the Hobbits' Buckland. He had no key for the gate, but he spoke words of command, which he taught to Legolas and Aragorn.

"I'll warrant Mithrandir himself does not know this spell," Tom chortled, "for I understand that he uses a key that a Took or a Brandybuck gifted him."

Legolas knew this to be so, for he had seen the very key. The Elf was not surprised that Tom Bombadil, Oldest and Fatherless, had magic of his own, but he wondered whether the words of command would work when uttered by a Man or even an Elf. Tom read his mind.

"Fear not, young Prince. The power of these words comes from the deep magic of the earth itself. Clutch a handful of soil in your fist as you utter them, and they will surely cause the gate to spring open."

Reassured, Legolas and Aragorn thanked Tom Bombadil and bade him farewell. Slipping out on the Buckland side of the hedge, the two friends looked about for shelter. As Aragorn had told Tom Bombadil, he was to remain behind in Buckland, whose borders he would scout while Legolas went on to Hobbiton. Gandalf had asked the Elf to convey his greetings to Bilbo Baggins. He had also asked Legolas to take careful stock of Bilbo's health and well-being, although he had been rather cagey about why he was so concerned about the Hobbit.

"Bilbo is after all getting on in years," the wizard had told Legolas. "He is quite old for a Perian."

Legolas thought that Gandalf was not telling him all that he could. Why, the Elf wondered, was it necessary to be so secret if all the wizard wanted was news of the Hobbit's health? For Gandalf had been quite insistent on the need for secrecy.

"Don't draw any attention to yourself, Legolas. Don't let it be known that you are visiting Bilbo. Travel at night, and keep to the cover of the trees whenever possible. Whilst at Bag End, stay within during the day."

Yet Legolas forbore pressing the wizard for any explanations. Over the centuries he had learned to trust Gandalf implicitly. He knew the Istar must have his reasons, and that was enough for the Elf.

Now Elf and Man scouted about until they found a good campsite, one that was well hidden and close to a spring. They rested there until nightfall, when Legolas bade Aragorn farewell and set off for Hobbiton.

Legolas' first task was to cross the Baranduin.

"There is a ferry," Gandalf had told the Elf, "but of course it wouldn't do for you to stroll up and ask the ferryman to take you across. The Hobbits have an excellent post, and within the day it would be all over the Shire that one of the Fair Folk was in their midst. No, you must cross the Brandywine Bridge. I am sure that you can slip across surreptitiously sometime during the night."

"If I cannot, then I am no Elf," declared Legolas warmly.

Gandalf had told Legolas that the bridge was about twenty miles north of their entry point into Buckland, and Legolas covered the distance quickly and easily. As he had anticipated, he encountered no difficulties. It was a good night for a surreptitious journey. There was no moon; moreover, thick clouds obscured even the stars. When the Elf drew near the bridge, he found that two Hobbits were minding it. Legolas smiled when he saw this to be so. One Hobbit might watch the bridge; two would watch each other! The Hobbits sat off to one side, leaning against a stanchion, their backs to the bridge. They were smoking companionably and gossiping about the small doings of friends and family. Keeping to the shadows, Legolas circled around them, until their backs were to him as well. Then he simply stepped quietly onto the bridge and crossed into the Shire proper. The Hobbits never so much as glanced over their shoulders.

Keeping to the shelter of hedges and trees, Legolas traveled several more miles before dawn caused him to seek shelter in a copse. There he slept until dusk, when he resumed his journey after nibbling on a wafer of lembas and sipping from his water bladder. An hour before dawn, he slipped into Hobbiton and sought out Bilbo's dwelling, whose situation and appearance had been carefully described to him by Gandalf. Spying it, he crept up and hid in the shrubbery alongside it. Gently he tapped upon one of the windows. After waiting patiently for a time, he rapped a little louder. From within he heard a bed frame creak and then a thump and a muffled exclamation, as if someone had arisen and bumped into a piece of furniture. Sure enough, he heard someone say, "Drat that chair—I do believe it's gone and moved itself!"

Legolas grinned. Footsteps shuffled toward the casement, and he heard the latch lifted. The frame was pushed outward, and a curly head poked out the window and peered about.

"Wizard, Dwarf, or Elf?" said the Hobbit. "Whichever you be, show yourself, if you please. 'Tis a cold night!"

"Elf," said Legolas, arising from his hiding place in the bushes.

"Ah, of course. A Dwarf would have been noisier, and had it been Gandalf, I'd 'a smelled the pipeweed on his garments—he smokes more than any Dwarf! I'll just go round and unlock the front door."

Legolas crept to the front of the house, careful to stay in the shadows. Bilbo unlocked the round door, cracked it open a bit, and Legolas slipped in.

"Hungry, Master Elf?" said Bilbo, without any other preliminaries. Legolas was not surprised. Gandalf had told him that any exchange with the Hobbit was sure to be accompanied by a 'bite', more or less.

"A little thirsty, Master Baggins, if you please."

"Some wine, then? I'll not offer you beer, for no doubt it is not your cup of tea, if you will pardon the expression. And no doubt tea is not your cup of tea, neither!"

"I would greatly appreciate a cup of wine," said Legolas, smiling.

"And will you have a biscuit with that?"

"Indeed, I would be glad of a biscuit."

The two had entered the kitchen, and Legolas took a chair, his legs pressed against his chest, as the chair was, of course, sized for a Hobbit rather than a tall Elf. Bilbo poured a glass of wine for Legolas and disappeared briefly into the cellar, returning with a mug of beer for himself. Placing a plate of biscuits on the table, the Hobbit then seated himself at the table opposite from Legolas.

"You know my name, else you wouldn't be here. Now who might you be?"

"My name is Legolas."

"Legolas, eh. That means Greenleaf, does it not?"

"Mithrandir told me that you were learnéd in the elven tongues. I see that he spoke the truth."

"'Learnéd' would be stretching matters a bit, I think, but I do know a few phrases. Certainly it takes no scholar to know that Legolas means Greenleaf. It comes from Laiqualässe, does it not?"

Legolas was impressed.

"Truly, Master Baggins, you _are_ a scholar, although you would deny it."

"Call me Bilbo, and, yes, I will deny it. But enough bantering. I see that you have drained your cup and eaten three biscuits. Would you like me to show you to your room?"

"Yes, Bilbo, if you please."

"I do please," said Bilbo briskly, leaping up and leading Legolas down a corridor to a room whose door was a little larger than the other doors in the Hobbit hole. Bilbo flung it open and gestured inside.

"That bed is a little longer than the beds in the other rooms. Gandalf stays in here when he visits. He complains that the bed is still too short for his frame, but I tell him he ought to be more flexible about things. 'Can't you bend?' I ask him. 'Doesn't do to be too rigid!'"

Bilbo chuckled at his own humor, and Legolas assured him that he was quite flexible enough to sleep upon the bed.

"Good night, then," said Bilbo cheerfully. "Or good day, actually, as the sun is just coming up!" With a wave and a smile, the hobbit shut the door, leaving Legolas to sort himself out. The bedstead was indeed shorter than Legolas was used to, but it was wide enough and well furnished with bolster and feather mattress and soft, warm quilts. Legolas had no trouble making himself comfortable, and as he drifted off to sleep, he felt momentarily guilty at being so well sheltered when Aragorn no doubt had spent the night curled up in his bedroll at the base of some tree.

Legolas could have spared himself the guilt. At this moment Aragorn was waking up in a most comfortable setting. He was, in fact, exceptionally well housed, even if his bed _was_ shorter than Legolas's. It seems that Aragorn's skill at hiding his tracks had been no match for the sharp eyes of two observant Hobbits who had been out in search of mushrooms. Perhaps, assuming that the Hobbits had no woodcraft—Gandalf had described them as quite domesticated!—Aragorn had not been as careful as he should have been.

"I do believe those are man-tracks," exclaimed Saradoc Brandybuck—'Scattergold' to his friends for his habit of wasting his farthings on trifles for all lasses in general, but Esmeralda Took in particular.

His friend Paladin Took (who was, incidentally, Esmeralda's brother) looked carefully at the prints in the soft soil by a spring.

"Right you are, Scat'gold. They are booted and much too large to be anything but the tracks of one of the Big Folk."

"Wonder what he is doing wandering about here. What say we follow him, Pal'in?"

"Yes, let's!"

A Took or a Brandybuck was of course much more likely to do that sort of thing than the Bolgers, Boffins, and Bracegirdles who clustered in the tame environs of Hobbiton and Bywater. Thus, with the zeal both of their blood and their youth, Scat'gold and Pal'in enthusiastically set out to follow the trail, growing quiet when they realized they were catching up to the stranger. As Gandalf and certain Dwarves knew, Hobbits can move very quietly indeed if they need or wish to. In fact, in his stealth Bilbo Baggins came near rivaling an Elf. (Oddly, Gandalf was made uneasy by Bilbo's ability to move about without being seen. He had gravely warned Legolas that he would have to keep a sharp eye on Bilbo if he did not want the Hobbit to give him the slip. 'Unnatural', Legolas had heard the wizard mutter.)

Now Pal'in and Scat'gold carefully peered through ferns at the human stranger, who had crouched down and was gathering—mushrooms!

"Hey, you!" shouted Pal'in and Scat'gold simultaneously as they leaped as one from their hiding place. "That's _our_ mushroom patch!"

Aragorn froze, not because he was afraid but because he did not wish to alarm the Periannath by suddenly arising to his full height. Perhaps, though, he shouldn't have worried, for Pal'in and Scat'gold were so indignant that they were unlikely to have been intimidated by even the tallest of Men. The two were excessively fond of mushrooms and resented nothing so much as a fungus-poacher. Their indignation was ironic, however, for they were not above poaching mushrooms themselves, as certain farmers in the Shire proper had reason to know.

"Your pardon, sirs," said Aragorn politely. "I did not know that this was your patch. I am sure I should have asked permission if I had." He gestured toward a cloth upon which lay several mushrooms. "These are of course yours, and you are welcome to them." He sat back upon his heels, his hands upon his knees where the Hobbits could see them.

Mollified by the young human's conciliatory speech and behavior, Pal'in and Scat'gold immediately abandoned all resentment. Besides, they were inquisitive, as are all Hobbits. They would rather pepper someone with questions than fight with him.

"We don't see many Big People hereabouts," said Pal'in frankly. "Even our wizard hasn't been about much these last few years."

"Your wizard? You must mean Gandalf."

"You know Gandalf?"

"Oh, yes," exclaimed Aragorn. He drew forth a long-stemmed pipe from his pack.

"See the rune for 'G' on this pipe. That's Gandalf's sign."

"How came you by his pipe?" said Scat'gold a trifle suspiciously. "Happen you took it without his leave?"

"No! No! I broke my pipe, and he gave me his. He was setting off for Erebor and told me to never mind, that he would be able to get two or three new pipes from the Dwarves there. He gets along famously with the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain."

"That's true," acknowledged Scat'gold. "I've heard him say that himself."

"How is it that you met with Gandalf in the first place?" asked Pal'in, who really did think that the Istar was 'their' wizard and was surprised at anyone else knowing him.

"I met him at Rivendell, the home of Lord Elrond. One of my fondest memories of Imladris is of seeing Gandalf blowing smoke creatures out the end of his pipe."

"Oh, so you have seen his smoke creatures," exclaimed Pal'in, delighted. "They are very clever."

"_I _much prefer his fireworks," said Scat'gold.

"I have never seen a display of his fireworks," said Aragorn honestly, "but I have been told that they are very impressive."

"Who told you so?" said Scat'gold curiously. "Was it a Hobbit?"

"No, an Elf I met in Rivendell," replied Aragorn. He wondered whether he ought to mention Legolas' name and then decided against it. Just then, the Hobbits decided that it was time for some introductions of their own.

"I," said Pal'in proudly, "am Paladin Took—Paladin the Second, to be pre-cise."

"And I," announced Scat'gold with equal pride, "am Saradoc Brandybuck, of Brandy Hall."

"But you can call me Scat'gold," added the same.

"And me Pal'in," chimed in his companion.

The two looked at Aragorn expectantly. He decided it would be wise to be circumspect even in the company of Halflings.

"I am Thorongil," he declared.

"That would make you 'Gil," proclaimed Scat'gold.

The future heir to the throne of Gondor was not at all certain that he wanted to be a 'Gil, but, as he was in Hobbit territory, he wisely decided to acquiesce. This turned out to be a prudent choice, as his hosts were to prove extraordinarily accommodating. They commenced to look about the mushroom patch.

"Say, Scat'gold," said Pal'in, "as we are here, what say we gather ourselves a mess of mushrooms. And then let's take 'em and our friend here to Brandy Hall and get your Gamma to cook 'em for we three."

"Yes, but not mushrooms only," rejoined Scat'gold.

"Oh, to be sure! I wasn't thinking that we'd sup on mushrooms alone!"

Pal'in proceeded to reel off a list of at least a dozen dishes, each of which would be fair accompaniment for mushrooms. Listening, Aragorn grew hungry, and suddenly his stomach rumbled mightily. The two Hobbits giggled.

"Well," chortled Pal'in, "methinks 'Gil approves of the plan."

"His stomach does, anyway," agreed Scat'gold, grinning and winking at Aragorn, who grinned back.

The two Hobbits and the young Man set to gathering mushrooms with a will. Pal'in and Scat'gold laid their jackets upon the ground and heaped them high with the fungal treats, and Aragorn filled every spare corner of his pack. Then they shouldered their winnings and set out for Brandy Hall, where Aragorn was received most graciously, the Brandybucks not sharing the prejudices of most of the Hobbits who dwelt in the Shire proper, who would have looked askance at any Man, let alone one dressed as a Ranger. After a most excellent dinner, at which it rained ale and snowed mushrooms, Aragorn was shown to a comfortable (if small) bed, and curling up upon it, he slept contentedly—although it must be confessed that, after all that ale, he snored like a Bree-lander!

So it was that Legolas, although he knew it not, had no cause to worry about the welfare of his friend—not for that night, at any rate.


	45. Bad Apples

**Thanks to the following reviewers: _Joee__, Andi-Black_, and _Kelly Kragen_. _Kelly_, Legolas will think that Bilbo is a little odd and will wonder at it, but, no, he won't uncover the ring.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_**

**Chapter 45: Bad Apples**

Hyge hunched over his bowl of porridge, casting uneasy sidelong glances at the strangers from the south, the seventh such party of foreigners to have descended upon his parents' cottage in the past month. The first group had been barely civil, arriving at the door as they did one evening and peremptorily demanding supper. As Aragorn had once discovered, Hyge's Mum always did cook enough to set one extra plate, but she could not serve all the strangers, not without stinting her own family. The Men, however, looked so threateningly at Hyge's Da, fingering their knife hilts as they did so, that the farmer gave off trying to protest and quietly forbore eating dinner that night, as did his wife. Hyge, too, did not have a hot meal that night, instead joining his Da and Mum later that evening for a light repast of cheese and apples. The children they fed first in the corner—the farmer and his wife insisted on that much—and then Hyge's Mum went round the table filling the strangers' plates with roasted pork. The Men belched and spoke rudely, uttering words that made even Hyge's Da blush, and as soon as she had served them all, Hyge's Mum quietly shepherded the children from the cottage and bedded them down in the apple shed, which, even if the accommodations were rough, at least smelled of the sweetness of fruit—more than could be said of the cottage, which reeked of the unwashed bodies of the unwelcome guests.

The next morning the leader of the Men tossed Hyge's Da a coin that scarce covered the cost of the food they had eaten, and without so much as a 'thank you' the group rode off, leaving behind dirty dishes, soiled linen and a muddy floor—you may be sure that they had not bothered to wipe their boots before forcing their way into the cottage! The children helped their Mum drag all the duvets and mattress covers into the yard while their Da chopped kindling and Hyge hauled water to fill their largest cauldron. "We are going to wash every scrap of cloth," Hyge's Mum declared firmly. Mum and the oldest girl, Marta by name, stood over the cauldron with wooden paddles stirring the boiling linen. Two younger girls were set to washing all the dishes in a smaller cauldron, and the other children, boys and girls alike, scrubbed and scoured both the table and floor. Even the youngest girl, Berta, took up brush and worked away at cleansing the cottage.

When Hyge had hauled all the water that would be needful, he wanted to follow the Men to see what they were up to. His Da, however, forbade him from doing so. "The more distance between you and those Men, the better," the older Dunlending had declared. But he did permit Hyge to backtrack along their trail to learn what he could of them, and Hyge set out with great determination.

After walking for an hour, the young Dunlending came to the burned-out shell of a homestead, the tendrils of smoke still spiraling up from the ruins. Beside the cottage, on his back, lay a Man, a farmer like Hyge's Da. His belly had been hacked open, and flies buzzed amongst his entrails. A few feet away from him lay his son, a boy whom Hyge had played with when he was younger. His throat had been cut. Hyge squeezed his eyes shut and willed the world to stop spinning. As he stood with his eyes closed, he realized that he smelled burnt meat, but of a kind he had never encountered before. He did not want to open his eyes, but at length he forced himself to. Reluctantly, he drew nearer the ravaged house and peered through the scorched frame of the door. From the size of the twisted, blackened carcass that lay within, he guessed that he had found the mother. Two smaller lumps lay by the stumps of her arms. Hyge remember that the woman, like his own mother, had had twins. He leaned against the doorframe. This time tears escaped from his tightly shut eyes. As he stood there, his breath coming in uneven gasps, his stomach churning, he imagined that he heard a child crying. The boy, the twins—what of the girl? Quickly Hyge opened his eyes and spun about. He tried to calm his breathing so that he could hear the better. Yes, that was a child crying. In the shed, the only structure left unburned? Anxiously he crossed to the shed and flung open the door. Someone shrieked and scrabbled about in the darkness of the shed. Hyge tried to speak soothingly.

"Malinka, 'tis that you? I'm Hyge, Berta's brother. Show yourself, child. I won't hurt you. By the Mother, I won't hurt you. I will take you to Berta. Wouldn't you like that, Malinka? Wouldn't you like to be with Berta right now?"

The crying had ceased. Whoever was in the shed was staying perfectly still. Hyge stepped further into the shed and began to grope about. At length he laid his hand on something warm—and the something bit him. Not wanting to frighten the child, he stifled the impulse to shout, got as firm a grip on her as he could, and carried her as gently as possible out of the shed, ducking around to the back of the building as he did so that she would not be confronted by the bodies of her father and brother. He suspected she had already seen them once and thought that was more than enough for such a little one—for she was no older than five.

Once behind the shed, he sat down upon the earth and drew Malinka on to his lap. She flailed and kicked, but he held her tight until she began to tire. At last she leaned back against him and cried so violently that Hyge wondered how she was able to draw breath. Then she fell silent. She was trembling and very cold. Hyge took off his tunic and wrapped her in it, being sure to pull the cloth over her face, for they were going to pass by the yard, where her father and brother lay.

"I am going to carry you to my Mum," he reassured the silent child. "She will look after you and then bundle you to bed with Berta."

The child still said nothing, but after awhile she trembled less. Hyge tried to walk as quickly as he could without jostling the little girl, and at length he felt her relax in his arms and from the evenness of her breathing knew that she had fallen asleep. He suspected that so exhausted was she from her ordeal that she would sleep until well into the next day, and he was glad of it.

The moon was rising as he quietly entered his parents' cottage. Both his Mum and his Da had waited up for him, and without a word his Mum lifted Malinka from his arms, laid her next to Berta, and then lay down beside her so that Malinka was nestled between mother and daughter. As for Hyge's Da, just as wordlessly he followed Hyge out to a shed and joined his son in picking up a shovel. Placing the tools over their shoulders, they silently hiked back to the ruined homestead, where they dug three graves, one for the son, one for the father, and one to be shared by mother and twins. They wrapped the bodies in sacks that they found in the shed. Hyge retched and cried as they gathered up the remains of the mother and her babies, and his Da did not rebuke him but instead laid a comforting hand upon his shoulder.

It was several days before Malinka could tell them anything at all about what had taken place at her parents' homestead. It was Berta to whom she told the story, as Hyge's Mum listened quietly nearby, giving no sign that she heard as she kneaded bread dough.

"The Man was shouting at my Mum," Malinka told Berta. She waved a stick in her hand. "And then my brother said, 'Don't you talk to my Mum that way!" She picked up another, smaller stick. "My brother was very, very angry at the Man. The Man hit him, and he fell down." Malinka struck the smaller stick with the larger one. The top of the smaller stick snapped off. "Then my Da was angry. He came running. But someone hit him and he fell down, too. His belly was bleeding. And then my Mum told me to hide quiet in the shed, and she picked up my little sisters and ran into the cottage, and then the Men ran into the cottage, and I heard my mother screaming and I heard my little sisters screaming. I covered my ears and hid under the sacks in the shed. When it was all quiet, I peeked out. The house was all gone. My brother was all bloody and he wouldn't talk to me, but his eyes were open. And my Da wouldn't talk to me, and his eyes were open, too. And I couldn't find my Mum. And I couldn't find my little sisters." Malinka dragged the end of the long stick through the dirt and then cast it aside. "I wish my Mum and my sisters had hid with me in the shed," she said unhappily. "The Men didn't look in the shed."

"The mother knew Malinka was the only one who had a chance of surviving," Hyge's Mum told Hyge and his Da later that day after the children had all gone to bed. "The babies would cry and be found, but Malinka was old enough to stay silent for at least a little while, perchance long enough to escape that murderous lot. So she carried the babies into the cottage, away from Malinka, and there they were slain with their mother."

Hyge's Da nodded.

"Aye. Here is how it must have been. Before they quartered themselves upon us, those Men stopped at that homestead and spoke to the folk there as rudely as they did to we folk here. The poor boy was ever a little hasty in his speech, and he took offense and spake bold. One of the strangers stabbed him, and when the father ran to his aid, they stabbed him as well. Then poor Malinka was set to hiding in the shed whilst her Mum went into the cottage to be slain with the others so that the wee one might live."

"Yes," agreed Hyge. "That is how it must have been."

"It is good," said Hyge's Mum, "that we gave over arguing with those strangers that night, lest we had suffered the same fate. They are not Men to be crossed. If any more like them come, we'd best give them what they want with no argument."

And more had come, each group at least as rude and uncivil as the first. After the second visitation of this scourge, Hyge's family again washed the linen, but this time they afterward set it aside in the apple shed, where the children now slept each night. Only threadbare, ragged, stained blankets were spread upon the mattresses in the cottage. "Good enough for the likes of them," Hyge's Mum had sniffed as she dragged the old bedclothes from a chest where they had been stored until such time as they might be torn into rags.

Hyge's mother also began to cook a great quantity of extra food each day, although never using first-rate ingredients. They had smoked and salted and dried a great quantity of meat from a steer they had slaughtered, and the best of it they hid away behind a false wall in one of the sheds. They also set aside the best of the cheeses and the apples and the potatoes.

"We'll feed them," said Hyge's Mum grimly, "but at as little cost to ourselves as possible."

Now the seventh band of Men from the south had descended upon them and was gobbling up the stew that Hyge's Mum had prepared that day, leaving nothing but porridge for the cottagers. This Hyge was able to bear patiently, for he thought with satisfaction of the cheese and apples that awaited the children. He himself had carefully picked out each apple that morning, and with equal care had selected a wheel of cheese and split it so that each child would have a generous wedge. They would not go to bed hungry!

A smile came to his face, but it did not remain there long. He caught sight of Malinka's pale and frightened face as she stared fearfully at the boisterous Men who lounged about the cottage spitting and picking their teeth. He made a small hand motion, gesturing at her to come to him. She began to cross the room. As she passed by one of the Men, he reached out a hand and grasped her hair.

"Hey, this one has black hair, but that farmer has brown hair, and so do his wife."

Raucous, mean-spirited laughter arose.

"Seems to me," shouted another of the Men, "that somebody else's bull has been plowing this farmer's field!"

"And he don't mind, I guess, seein' how he's kept this one that ain't of his breedin'."

Hyge was now as pale as Malinka, but when he spoke he kept his voice even.

"That child is an orphan. That is why her hair is different from my mother's and father's."

"Huh," scoffed one of the Men. "That's what they told you, boy, but I seen how that woman treats this brat like one of her own."

"Of course she does," said Hyge, still controlling his voice. "We have adopted Malinka, so now she _is_ one of our own."

The Man who had seized Malinka's hair now let go of it and pushed her away from him so hard that she stumbled and nearly fell. Hyge held out his arms and she crawled into his lap and buried her head in his chest. Marta, the oldest of Hyge's sisters entered the cottage just then.

"Hey," shouted the Man who had mistreated Malinka, "here's a field what has never been ploughed, I'll warrant. What say we save the farmer the cost of hiring a bull!"

The Man leaped to his feet. Hyge, still holding Malinka, jumped up as well.

"You useless, slobbering half-wit," he shouted at his sister. "'Tis well past Malinka's bedtime. Take her at once and put her to bed. As for yourself, since you soiled the bed last night, you will sleep upon the bare ground this night. Aye, and that will keep any of the pus from your buttocks sores from getting onto the linen. The mistress is getting tired of the extra laundering you cause us, what with your drooling and puking and all. If you don't be more cleanly in the future, we'll sell you off to a band of Men like these here. See if we don't!"

Boldly he turned to the Men.

"What say you, gentlemen? Would you like a serving wench? If you explain things carefully to her, she can do most tasks after a fashion."

"What do you take us for, boy?" roared the leader. "We are no fools! Get that scurvy, leprous creature out of my sight!"

Fortunately, Hyge's sister had been so amazed at his speech that she did look as if she were addled in the brains. Her expression bespoke bewilderment, and her mouth hung slack. Hyge thrust Malinka into her arms and pushed her out the door.

"I am sorry, Marta," he said softly once they were well away from the house. "One of the Men wanted to use you as only a husband ought, and I spoke so for no other reason than to turn his stomach against you. I pray you, take Malinka into the apple shed, and both of you remain there until I come for you on the morrow."

Marta was now trembling, as was Malinka. Hyge kissed the forehead of first one, then the other.

"Sisters, do not be afraid. No one will trouble you further tonight, and tomorrow let us take counsel with Da and Mum about how to preserve you from danger in the future."

He walked Marta and Malinka to the shed and saw that they were settled comfortably. Then he took the axe from the woodpile and seated himself in the shadows. There he remained the entire night, keeping watch on the door to the shed. A few times during the night Men stumbled out to urinate in the yard—they would not even take the very slight trouble of walking around back to the outhouse!—but no one ventured near the apple shed.

The next morning, after eating again at the expense of the cottagers—the coin that was flung at the feet of Hyge's father once more came nowhere near covering the cost of the provisions they had devoured—these latest strangers rode off toward the north.

As soon as they were out of sight and hearing, Hyge went to the apple shed and told Marta and Malinka that they could come forth. Both crept out timidly, anxiously looking all about the yard as they did so.

"They are gone, sisters," Hyge assured them. "Come and eat. Mum has brought out several loaves of good bread that she had placed out of sight in the rafters. Aye, and she has pulled up from the well the crock in which she had hidden the sweet butter. Come!"

After they had eaten, Malinka was sent out to play with the other children, and Hyge and Marta took counsel with their Mum and Da.

"If these strangers keep descending upon us, it is all too likely that at last one of them will lay hold of Marta," declared Hyge fiercely. "That is, it is all too likely unless we do something to prevent it."

His Da ground his teeth.

"I have gone to the others hereabouts," he said in frustration, "and told them that we must join together and stop these Men from traversing our lands. They call me their chief and have listened to me in the past. But this time they are paralyzed with fear. They say that the chieftains to the south have given the strangers leave to cross the borders, and what can our one clan do if the other clans will do nothing."

Hyge nodded.

"Aye, they will do nothing as long as they think we stand alone."

"We do stand alone," said Hyge's Mum dejectedly.

"But we need not," rejoined Hyge. "There are those who would look upon these strangers with no more favor than we do."

"Who?" said Marta.

"The Elves. The Fair Folk would not be kindly disposed toward creatures as villainous as these Men have been. Now, mark you: the Men have always arrived from the south and journeyed on to the north. They must at least be skirting the territory of the Elves, if not entering it outright. I do not think the Elves are aware of this, else they would have already sent out scouting parties that would have back trailed the strangers. Moreover, since our household is known to Lord Elrond, surely any scouts would have stopped here in search of news. Yet we have seen no sign of such scouts."

"So," said Hyge's Mum, "you mean to carry word to Lord Elrond of these Men and their doings."

"Yes, and I will take Marta and Malinka with me. Even if the Elves do not chose to move against these strangers, they will not deny my sisters sanctuary. They turn aside no one in need of protection against evil."

"Yes," agreed Hyge's Da, "you should take Marta. But Malinka is too young for the Men to look upon her as they do Marta. Why would you take her as well? 'Twould be a hard thing for her if her second family is reived from her so soon after her first one was."

"True," said Hyge sadly. "It is a hard thing. But 'tis too fearful a thing for Malinka to continually see Men like unto the ones who slew her family. Until this land is clear of them, she should stay at Rivendell with Marta. Then we will have them both back again."

"Hyge is right," said his Mum. "Yesterday Malinka was speechless the whole day, so great was the fright she was thrown into by those Men."

"It is agreed then," said Hyge's Da. "Hyge, Marta, and Malinka will journey to Rivendell and seek out the Lord Elrond. He has been good to us in the past; may he be good to us once again."

All echoed his prayer, and then they arose to make preparations for the journey of Hyge and his sisters.


	46. The Plot Thickens

**_Grumpy:_ Thank you. Here is another installment.**

**_Tracey: _I'm glad you like the story overall even though the dialogue and the character names in Chapter 47 were unsatisfying. Was it the speech of Hyge and his family that you didn't think worked, or was it the speech of the strangers? Or both? If it was Hyge's family, was the dialogue too stiff or artificial? If it was the strangers, was it too vulgar? Or was it something else altogether? Thanks for reviewing!**

**_Joee_****: Hyge leaves behind other siblings besides Berta. The idea is to remove Marta because she is most at risk and to remove Malinka because she has been traumatized.**

**_Andi_****_-Black: _The Dunlendings' role in the larger story begins to become somewhat apparent in this chapter.**

**_Dragonfly: _The involvement of the Rivendell Elves will begin with this chapter.**

**_Kelly Kragen: _Yes, the murder of the mother and twins was particularly horrific.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly._**

**Chapter 46: The Plot Thickens**

Erestor gently draped a blanket over the shoulders of the little human who sat upon a chair in Elrond's presence chamber, her legs dangling in midair. She looked up at the tall Elf in awe. He smiled reassuringly at her. She did not smile back, but Erestor thought that the fear in her eyes lessened somewhat.

The door swung open, and Elrond strode into the room. Minutes earlier he had been awakened by a servant and told that three humans had insisted upon entering the Hall and would not cease their clamoring until its Lord had been summoned. His face impassive, he surveyed the small band of humans. A young Man—he knew him to be Hyge Farmer, friend of both Legolas and Aragorn. A girl on the cusp of womanhood. Another girl, but one who was so tiny that she scarcely looked to be more than a toddler. Their clothes were stained with travel, and their faces were drawn and weary. Elrond's face softened.

"Erestor," he said, "will you go to the kitchen and ask that mulled cider be fetched hither—I know we have several barrels of most excellent cider, for we acquired them from Master Farmer here. Say also that food is to be brought to this chamber—preferably warm dishes, for I see that our guests shiver. Then awake the Head Housekeeper and tell her that we need two rooms prepared, one for Master Farmer, and the other for the two young ladies who accompany him. Let her be sure that warm water aplenty is furnished in both rooms and that the bedding be ample. Let garments be laid in each room that are of a size for our guests."

"'Twill be hard to find garments for the little one," Erestor observed.

"An Elf's tunic would serve her as a gown, I think," Elrond replied.

"True." With that, Erestor hastened to do as he had been asked.

"Now, then," said Elrond, addressing himself to the humans in a kindly tone, "whilst we await the warm food and drink, we can at least drive off some of the chill that grips you. But you should stay seated whilst you warm yourself, for you look weary as well as cold. We will move the chairs next the fire."

Elrond himself picked up the chair upon which the tiny human sat—with her still in it! She gasped and then giggled as he carried chair and child to the fireplace.

"There," Elrond said, placing the chair back upon the ground. "Now you may be seated—but you already are!" The elf lord made a great show of being surprised to find the child upon the chair, and the little one laughed outright.

Elrond now helped the older girl move her chair while Hyge carried his own. Once the humans were all comfortably settled, Elrond drew a vial of miruvor from his tunic.

"This is powerful even for an Elf," he warned his guests, "so one sip only for each of you."

Obediently, each took only a tiny mouthful, but at once each felt refreshed both in body and spirit.

The door banged open just then, and a decidedly grim-faced Glorfindel stalked in. The little child let out a small shriek and pulled the blanket over her head.

"There are Elves hurrying and scurrying outside my chamber," growled Glorfindel. "If we are under attack, I'd like to know why I haven't been summoned."

"'Tis naught but the Housekeeper and her assistants preparing two rooms for guests," said Elrond mildly. "We are not under attack."

"Oh, but you are!" exclaimed Hyge. "I mean," he said, his face flushing as both Elves stared at him in surprise, "I mean, you may be. It's probable. Um, it's possible. _We _are, anyway," he trailed off.

"Under attack," he added.

Erestor returned then, leading a procession of servants bearing pitchers of steaming cider and platters heaped with food. This brought the little child out from under the blanket, and the two girls fell to, but Hyge ignored the food. Having recovered his wits and his courage, he arose and faced the three Elves.

"My Lords, this past month evil Men have come from the south and journeyed through Dunland on their way north. At best, they have been stealing the food from the mouths of our children. At worst, they have slaughtered at least one family whose only offense was that they objected to the ill treatment they received at the hands of these Men. We beg you to assist us in turning back these Men from our borders. If you will not do it out of kindness, then do so out of self-interest. For as we journeyed north, we followed the tracks of these Men. They came to the very borders of Imladris before turning westward. Surely it cannot please you to have such evil Men draw within striking distance of your own folk."

Hyge took a deep breath and went on.

"But if neither kindness nor self-interest will move you to take steps to stop these Men, then at least allow my sisters Marta and Malinka to remain here in safety. The Men have looked upon Marta with lustful eyes, and Malinka has witnessed what no child should see and is terrified to be in the presence of these Men."

With that, he took another deep breath and fell silent, gazing anxiously at the three elf lords.

Elrond turned to the balrog-slayer.

"Glorfindel?"

The seneschal looked thoughtful.

"It has been a month since any of the patrols have journeyed further south than our own borders. It is possible that during that time Men have drawn near our borders. At dawn I will lead a patrol that will back trail our guests and investigate the matter."

Elrond shook his head.

"I agree that a patrol should go forth, but perhaps someone other than yourself could lead it."

"Wherefore?"

Elrond did not immediately answer. He turned to Hyge.

"Master Farmer, how many Men have passed through Dunland?"

Hyge considered.

"Seven bands have stopped at my father's homestead. Each band has numbered from five to a dozen Men—perhaps fifty, sixty Men altogether, I think. There may be others who followed a route that did not bring them near us."

"Have any of these passed by on their way back south?"

"None that I know of, my Lord."

Elrond addressed his seneschal.

"Glorfindel, half a hundred Men at the least have journeyed to the west, toward Bree-land and the Shire. If they have combined forces, they represent a great threat to the folk of those lands—and to others."

Glorfindel nodded grimly.

"Berenmaethor will lead the patrol to the south. I myself will lead a force to the west."

"Thank you, my friend."

Elrond turned back to Hyge.

"Master Farmer, you shall have all your requests fulfilled. Your sisters are welcome to remain here as long as they wish; moreover, we will move against these Men, and out of both self-interest and concern for our neighbors. And now I suggest that you have somewhat to eat, for if you delay much longer, your sisters will leave you nothing!"

Marta looked up and blushed—Erestor thought she looked most endearing when she did so—but Malinka, absorbed in her plate, paid Elrond no heed. He was, in any event, exaggerating, for enough food remained to have fed several hungry young Men. Certainly Hyge had no difficulty in satisfying his hunger.

After all three humans had finished dining, Erestor led them to their rooms.

"Here you be, Master Farmer," he said briskly as they came to the first chamber. "Should you need anything, just duck your head out and hail any Elf who happens by. You'll be seen to, I assure you."

Hyge thanked him and went in to the room, closing the door after himself.

Erestor led Malinka and Marta on a little further.

"Here you are, my Ladies," he said gallantly.

Marta blushed, and again Erestor thought her quite endearing.

"Within you will find warm water, sweet-smelling lotions and soaps—although no sweeter than you!" he declared, bowing to Marta. "You will also find soft towels—although I warrant no softer than your hair," he added, again addressing Marta. "After you have bathed, you may don the garments that have been set out for you. The scarlet gown, Lady, will complement your hair nicely, I think, especially when set off by the green sash."

Erestor bowed again, as he did so taking Marta's hand and kissing it. When he straightened up, he patted Malinka on the head.

"Good night, child," he said distractedly.

He started to walk away and then suddenly stopped and turned about.

"Oh, my Lady, I had forgot. My chamber is the next but one," he said, pointing to the door of his room. "Should you require anything, do not hesitate to knock upon my door. I shall be glad to do anything that I can to make your stay in Imladris, which I hope will be a long one, as pleasant as may be."

Marta blushed again and with head lowered said softly that she would remember his offer. Erestor beamed, strode to his door, looked back at Marta once more, and vanished into his room.

"He likes you," said Malinka.

"What a silly notion," scolded Marta. "He is merely being courteous. Did you not know that the Fair Folk are famed for their graciousness to their guests?"

"He wasn't all that gracious to Hyge," said Malinka stubbornly. "He likes you."

"Hush," scolded Marta, shooing Malinka into the chamber. "It is not to be thought of!"

Marta and Malinka had finished bathing and were sleeping soundly by the time that Legolas, miles away, was awaking in his chamber at Bag End. He yawned and stretched—and his feet shot off the end of the bed. He chuckled.

"I had forgot how short this bed is, even if it is extra-large, Halfling-wise."

He pulled his feet back under the quilt to enjoy a few last minutes cocooned in what was, for all its littleness, really quite a comfortable bed. Indeed, everything about the room had a comfortable look.

"I think," mused Legolas, "that if I were smaller I would very much enjoy being a Hobbit. There is a pleasant sort of earthiness about this place, not a dirty sort of earthiness, but a wholesome one, born of a love for all that is green."

As if in answer to his thoughts, he heard a whistling outside his window and the sound of shears.

"Ah," murmured Legolas, "someone is trimming the shrubbery outside that window." He allowed the rhythmic clacking of the shears to lull him into a sort of trance that was only broken by a gentle tapping upon the door. Bilbo stuck in his curly head.

"Good morning, Legolas—or should I say 'Good Afternoon', for 'tis well past lunch. In fact, I was just going to have tea, and thought you might like to join me."

"I would be delighted," replied Legolas.

"Excellent! I'll leave you to dress, then, and will see you shortly."

Bilbo bustled away, and shortly afterward Legolas heard him outside talking with the wielder of the shears.

"Hamfast, that bush under my window seems to have recovered nicely from the leaf blight."

"Aye, Master Bilbo. Didna expect that it would. Came out this mornin' thinkin' I'd be diggin' it up 'n' burnin' it. Come to find it lookin' like it never had no blight a'tall. Uncanny, I call it."

"Ah, there is no accounting for the power of nature," said Bilbo cheerfully.

"But 'tis _on_natural, I tell ye," Hamfast insisted.

"Nonsense! Living things have remarkable powers of rejuvenation."

"Rejuvawhatsat or not, Master Bilbo, I never see a bush recover in the space o' a night."

"Oh, likely it has been slowly improving these several days and it merely became noticeable this morning."

Hamfast muttered '_on_natural' again, but Bilbo went on to speak of other matters.

"How quiet it is with your Samwise and my Frodo away on their bit of a camping trip."

"Now that's another thing, Master Bilbo. Meanin' no disrespect, but I don't hold with this gallivantin' here 'n' there."

"Why, Hamfast, they are only hiking within a two days march of Hobbiton. Hardly 'gallivanting', I should say."

"No good will come of it," said Hamfast darkly. "You mark my words, Master Bilbo. Folk oughter stay to home, they should!"

"Why, Hamfast, _I_ haven't always stayed at home."

"There you have it!" exclaimed Hamfast. "Now, what did I tell ye, Master Bilbo? Folk oughter stay to home!"

"But Hamfast, good came of my journey there and back again, and good continues to come of it."

"Hmmph!" snorted Hamfast. "If good come o' it, then there be a King in the West! There now!"

Hamfast seemed to consider this last point to be irrefutable, and Bilbo laughed and gave over the argument, turning instead to a discussion of the ripeness of the tomatoes. As their voices receded into the distance, Legolas smiled.

"There will be a King in the West, Hamfast, and, although you cannot guess at it, great good has come of Bilbo's long ago journey, and the Valar permitting, great good will continue to come of it."

Legolas knew that Bilbo had accompanied a party of Dwarves to the Lonely Mountain and that his services had been invaluable, as they had both led to the destruction of the dragon Smaug and set the stage for a settlement of a dispute that would have led to a tragic war between Dwarves, Men, and Elves—his own kin among them. Since Bilbo's efforts had helped restore safety and prosperity both to Erebor and to neighboring lands, clearly great good had indeed come of his journey, a good that promised to extend into the future.

If there were any other good that might come of Bilbo's journey, Legolas was ignorant of it at this time. Gandalf was of course still keeping to himself any suspicions or surmises that he might have developed over the years. In any event, any suspicions that Gandalf may have had very probably had more to do with what _ill_ might come of Bilbo's journey rather than what good. Indeed, those suspicions were why Gandalf had sent Legolas to the Shire in the first place, for he hoped that the sharp-eyed Elf might notice something about Bilbo and his situation that the wizard had hitherto overlooked.

In fact, it was not long before Legolas began to notice that Bilbo had one very peculiar mannerism. The Hobbit was forever slapping his pockets nervously. Eventually he would seem to find what he was searching for, and he would briefly leave off fidgeting. But let another quarter of an hour pass, and he would check all his pockets once again.

"What has he got in his pockets," Legolas wondered, unconsciously echoing a question that another had asked long ago.

Other than that peculiarity, however, Legolas noticed nothing untoward. It seemed to him that Bilbo was a healthy, hearty, happy Hobbit in full possession of all his faculties, both physical and mental. Legolas was sure that Gandalf would be delighted to learn that his friend Bilbo was in fact faring much better than most Hobbits of his age, a few of whom were dead, the rest of whom were hobbling about and shouting 'Eh! What's that you say!?"

"Mithrandir told me that Bilbo was fifty when he ran off and had his great adventure. He might be fifty still," marveled Legolas. "Could it be that he has a touch of elvish blood?"

It did not occur to Legolas that there might be another reason for the Hobbit's longevity.

Legolas was not put off by Bilbo's one peculiarity, and he spent two pleasant days in the Hobbit's company. It was with reluctance that he at last bade farewell to the Perian.

"I have a friend waiting for me in Buckland," Legolas said, "else I should stay longer."

"Pity Frodo hasn't returned from his excursion," said Bilbo. "You'd like him, I think. He is a lively, promising lad. I expect great things of him."

"Perhaps I shall meet him another time," said Legolas.

"I hope things turn out so that you do. You'd have grand times together, I am sure!"

"No doubt," said Legolas. With that, he slipped out into the gathering darkness and set a relaxed pace for Buckland, meaning to cover the distance in two days.

If, however, he had known what was about to transpire there, he would have run the entire distance instead.


	47. An Unfortunate Encounter With Mushrooms

**_Kelly Kragen: _Yes, the cliffie does have to do with Aragorn, and, yes, I intended for people to believe that Legolas' presence had something to do with the revival of the bush. You are right that I will have to do something with Erestor and Marta. That story line cries out to be pursued, either in a touching or a humorous fashion (or both!).**

**_Dragonfly: _Actually, I can't permit Frodo and Sam to be anywhere in the vicinity of Legolas and Aragorn. In the book, when Frodo arrives at Rivendell, he doesn't know Legolas. And, of course, neither Frodo nor Sam have ever laid eyes on or heard of Aragorn, and they are very suspicious of him when they first encounter him (and for a good while thereafter, in the case of Sam). That's why I sent the two off on an excursion before Legolas shows up at Bag End.**

**_Mystwing_****: I'm guessing that even an illiterate farmer might have pretty good skills at arithmetic for the purposes of planning and taking stock of animals and produce. Several ancient, pre-literate cultures were pretty good at astronomical calculations for planting reasons, and that requires some arithmetic, too.**

**_Joee_****: Normally I like to wait to get feedback from five or six people, but, since you sound desperate, here you are. I don't want to drive anyone over the edge of a 'cliffie'.**

**Chapter 47: An Unfortunate Encounter with Mushrooms**

Aragorn's departure from Brandy Hall was every bit as reluctant as Legolas' departure from Bag End. However, the young Ranger was determined to thoroughly acquaint himself with the lands thereabouts. In this he had been encouraged by Gandalf, who seemed convinced that such knowledge would someday prove to be invaluable. So, sighing at the thought of the meals he would forgo, ''Gil' thanked his hosts, shouldered his pack, and returned to the cover of forest and scrub.

The day began uneventfully. The morning was a fine one, and Aragorn covered many miles, working up a hearty appetite as he did so. Noon found him deep in a forest that he had decided to explore to locate likely campsites for future expeditions. As he slung his pack to the ground, he noticed mushrooms growing in the shady, moist soil. They looked like the mushrooms he had collected in the company of Pal'in and Scat'gold, and he gladly gathered a handful. Sitting with his back against a tree trunk, he nibbled one. It did not taste exactly like the ones he had eaten earlier, but it was delicious in its own way, and he had soon polished it off and started on another. Midway through this second one, however, he began to feel sick. At first he felt only a little nauseated. Soon, though, he was sweating and bent over double, clutching at his stomach. He pushed a finger down his throat, forcing himself to vomit, but even so he continued to feel deathly ill. The world was spinning, and the leaves were losing their colors. Everything turned gray, and Aragorn collapsed, curled up into a tight ball.

When consciousness returned to the young Ranger, he did not know how long he had been insensible. He was no longer lying curled up. Instead, he was stretched flat upon his back, with something soft under his head. He felt the cool air upon his chest and knew that his tunic had been removed.

"Someone has found me," he thought with relief. Then he realized that his hands had been crossed before him and bound together with rope. Warily he peered out through half-closed eyes. A Man sat cross-legged regarding him. Aragorn's sword lay across the Man's knees.

"You needn't pretend to be asleep," said the Man. "I seen ye move."

The Man smiled, but Aragorn did not find the expression reassuring. Nevertheless, he opened his eyes completely and stared directly at the Man.

"What I wan'ta know," the Man continued, "is where y'got this here sword."

The Man did not speak like a Ranger, nor was he dressed like one. Aragorn did not think he was an ally of the Elves. Calculating swiftly, the young Dúnadan adopted a bragging tone.

"Took it off an Elf, I did. You shoulda seen his face when I bested him!"

Aragorn spoke the truth. The sword had been the prize in an archery contest, and Elrohir's face had been a study when he realized that his younger brother Estel had defeated him. The youth had spent weeks practicing secretly with Legolas, who had shown him how to shoot two arrows at a throw. Aragorn had thus been able to win a tie-breaking round by sending both arrows simultaneously through the center of the target. Elrohir had protested, but in vain, and had had to satisfy himself with waylaying Legolas after supper that night and rubbing dirt into his hair. Aragorn almost chuckled at the memory, but his reflections were interrupted by a harsh voice.

"_You_ defeat an Elf? Hah! But it don' matter whether ye did or ye didn'. If you did, you'll be useful. If ye didn', then you stole it—and you'll be useful. Fighter 'r thief, it don' matter—long as yer useful. And if you hain't neither, well, there's other ways a body kin be useful."

The Man laughed, and Aragorn didn't like his laugh any better than his smile. The Man sheathed Aragorn's sword and fastened the scabbard across his own pack. Then he untied Aragorn and allowed him to pull on his tunic. Once the young Ranger was dressed, the Man tied him again, this time with his hands behind his back. Next he fastened a rope around Aragorn's neck. Holding the end of the cord in his hand, the Man led Aragorn deeper into the forest.

They had walked for perhaps an hour when Aragorn heard boisterous laughter.

"The fools," growled his captor. "I tol' 'em to be quiet. They'll bring enemies down upon us. Now you, ye hain't said a word. You know when t'keep yer mouth shut, you do. I like that in a Man. If you keep on as you've begun, you'll do well, I don' doubt."

Since he'd praised been for saying nothing, Aragorn decided it would be would be wise to continue to do so.

They arrived at the camp, and Aragorn was shocked to see the size of it. There were at least fifty Men clustered around campfires and perhaps as many as seventy-five.

"Whacher got there, Chief?" shouted one of the Men.

"Goin' blind, Saul? A new recruit, you idiot. Here. You show 'im the ropes."

The Chief handed Saul the cord. The other Men found this to be immensely funny and roared with laughter. Saul scowled. He turned his anger upon Aragorn, yanking the rope so hard that he stumbled forward.

"You'd better be worth the trouble, boy. What's yer name?"

"'Gil, sir."

"Whose spawn do you be?"

"I have no father, sir.

"Happen yer a bastard, then?"

Aragorn controlled his anger.

"My father is dead. I am an orphan. Sir"

"Oh, very likely," scoffed Saul. "That's what they all say."

Aragorn said nothing.

"Proud, are we?" sneered Saul. "Have to deal with that. See that cauldron there? I want it scrubbed so bright I kin see me handsome face init."

At least, thought Aragorn, his hands would have to be untied for him to accomplish this task. No doubt he would need to be quiet and biddable for several days, but when the opportunity for escape came, he would seize it with both hands.

Saul did untie his hands, and he removed the rope from his neck as well. Eager to impress his captors with his submissiveness, Aragorn went to work with a will, scrubbing at the cauldron with scouring rushes until it was no shiny that Saul could have indeed seen his handsome face—if he had had one, that is.

After Aragorn had finished scouring the cauldron, Saul handed him his boots.

"I want these boots polished so bright I kin see me handsome face in 'em," he chortled.

Patiently, Aragorn knocked the mud from the boots and rubbed at them with an oil-soaked rag until they did indeed shine.

When he had finished, Saul handed him his shield. Aragorn sighed.

"Let me guess—you want this shield polished so bright you can see your handsome face in it."

Saul slapped him so hard that he was knocked off his feet. Blinking up at his tormenter, Aragorn tasted blood.

"You give me any lip, boy, I take it out on _your_ lip."

"Yes, sir," mumbled Aragorn.

"An' you give me cause, I'll do worse. Don' you doubt it! Cut a boy's throat not so long ago. Brat didn' know when to shut up, I fixed it so's he'd never speak no more. You feel tempted to mouth off, you remember that."

"Yes, sir," said Aragorn. Blood trailed from the side of his mouth.

"Now," Saul smirked, "I want this shield polished so bright I kin see me handsome face init."

"Yes, sir," said Aragorn wearily. Clearly, he was going to have to make a great show of being docile, not only so that he might eventually escape but also to keep his skin intact. He did not doubt for a minute that Saul had indeed cut a boy's throat, and for no cause other than that the boy had angered the Man with his speech.

Fortunately, Saul considered himself satisfied when Aragorn had at last finished polishing the shield. In fact, he seemed almost jovial.

"There now, 'Gil, that warn't so bad, now, polishin' an item 'r' two."

He clapped Aragorn on the shoulder, and Aragorn steeled himself so as not to flinch.

"No, sir."

"You do as yer told, an' no harm'll come to you."

"Yes, sir."

The message was clear. "If I am properly subservient," thought Aragon bitterly, "I will be rewarded by my master. Masters," he corrected, looking around at the encampment. He saw the Chief approaching.

"How is our new recruit gettin' on, Saul?"

"Fair, Chief, fair. He was a little too free in his speech at first, but I cured 'im o' that."

The Chief studied Aragorn's bruised face.

"Thought you was a quiet one. Don' prove me wrong," he warned.

"No, sir."

"Found out the boy's n'orphan," Saul said.

"Good. Kinless boys make good recruits. Gen'r'ly hain't got nowhere else to go." He addressed Aragorn.

"We'll be yer family, boy. Unnerstand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." He turned back to Saul. "Better tie 'im up tonight, Saul. Do that fer awhile till yer sure he's put down roots."

"That I will, Chief."

Once again Aragorn's hands were bound behind his back. For good measure, Saul tied his legs at the ankles. Lying uncomfortably on his side, Aragorn at first found it difficult to sleep. However, not for nothing had he been raised by Elves. Aragorn reminded himself that he needed to be strong, and lying sleepless would drain him, body and soul. He closed his eyes and took slow, even breaths. He felt his body relaxing, and soon he was sleeping soundly. In fact, so deeply did he sleep that Saul had to kick him twice the next morning before he was awake enough to remember where he was.

"Get up, slug," shouted Saul impatiently as Aragorn stared at him confusedly.

"I can't get up; I'm tied."

"You mouthin' off at me?" snarled Saul.

"No, sir," said Aragorn hastily. "But I _am_ tied. Sir."

Muttering, Saul untied him and then thrust a camp kettle at him.

"Yonder's a stream. Fill this. And mind you: yer within bowshot the entire distance, so don' be thinkin' of runnin' off."

"No, sir."

Aragorn joined a procession of bedraggled, defeated-looking boys on their way to the stream. Most were ill clad and shivered in the cold morning air. Aragorn suddenly wondered if Saul had once been one of these boys, ill-used and bereft of kin. If that had been so, he could almost feel sorry for the Man.

When Aragorn had returned to the campfire, however, it did not take long for Saul to drive away any feeling of pity that the young Ranger might have nursed on the Man's behalf. Saul seemed to feel that no command was complete unless it was accompanied by at least one term of abuse. Still, Aragorn managed to avoid being slapped or kicked for the remainder of the day.

That night, Aragorn again slept well, but the next day he managed to wake himself before Saul arose. As he lay waiting to be untied, he amused himself by listening to the morning songs of the birds. Suddenly he realized that one of the songs was all wrong: it was the call of a bird that did not frequent these parts. Instead, the bird's dwelling place was in Lothlórien. Aragorn hid his smile, and when Saul untied him, he was careful not to move too quickly when it came time to fetch water from the stream. As he knelt down to fill the kettle, a voice spoke softly from a tree limb above him.

"Aragorn, I do believe you have managed to take up with Men who are even scruffier than you are."

"Thank you, Legolas. I think."

"I suppose you expect me to create a diversion so that you can run off without taking an arrow to the back."

"That would be nice—but, wait, not yet."

Now that Legolas was there, Aragorn no longer felt concerned about his prospects for escaping.

"I think," he said slowly, "that I ought to remain with them for awhile. I may be able to discover something about their plans. Why, Legolas, is such a large group of foreigners camped in the vicinity of the Shire? They are not here on a trading mission, that's certain!"

"So you wish to remain in the camp as a spy," said Legolas doubtfully. "But your face is bruised. That Man has already done you an injury, and I fear lest he do you more harm."

Just at that moment the Man in question shouted after Aragorn, demanding to know why it was taking him so long to fill the kettle. Aragorn leaped to his feet.

"Don't worry, Legolas. He won't hurt me very badly because then I won't be of any use to them. You'll see!"

Legolas was not at all reassured, but he had no choice but to watch as Aragorn hurried back to Saul's campfire. The Elf settled himself in the tree to wait, using his time to check the fletching of each and every one of his arrows.

"If that Man hurts Estel," he muttered fiercely to himself, "then he'd better watch _his_ back."


	48. Matters Come To A Head

**Thanks to the following reviewers for egging me on: _Mystwing__, Dragonfly, Joee, Tracey, Vicki Turner, Andi-Black _and_ Kelly Kragen _(Yes, you're right. Legolas—all Elves actually—uses bird calls to signal to his friends).**

**_Tracey: _Thanks for getting back to me. Yes, I don't think all Men would be hostile to Elves. Some would be prejudiced: fearful of people that they were unfamiliar with or unable to understand. Some, on the other hand, would trade with Elves, like the people of Dorwinia. In my version of Middle Earth, some of the Dunlendings do fear Elves, but Hyge's family has benefited from their contact with the Elves and have nothing but respect for them.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly._ **

**Chapter 48: Matters Come To A Head**

Glorfindel gazed about the marsh, ignoring the midges that flitted about his face. He had sent Legolas and Aragorn this way in jest, but the Men they were pursuing had come here for another reason. Most travelers kept to the Great East Road. That these Men had not could mean only one thing: they wished to remain hidden, their movements undescried by the Men and Hobbits of Bree-land. Judging from the tale that Hyge had told of these Men, the motive for their secrecy was unlikely to be a good one.

Celaithand and Thoron came to stand beside Glorfindel. Both of them had undisguised fear upon their faces, although not for themselves. Legolas had been of their cohort, and they knew that their friend was all too likely to cross paths with the Men whom they pursued.

"Lord Glorfindel," said Thoron anxiously, "shall we go no further tonight?"

Glorfindel shook his head.

"Tonight the moon is hidden by clouds, and the path is treacherous. We dare go no further."

Celaithand began to speak.

"But Lord Glorfindel—"

"Nay, Celaithand," Glorfindel said, not unkindly. "I know you fear for Legolas, but you will be no help to him if you expend your energy flailing about in this mire. Nor are you like to arrive the quicker. Rest now—as much as the midges will permit!—and we shall resume our journey at first light, I promise you."

Reluctantly, Celaithand and Thoron did as they were bidden. Glorfindel, too, went to his rest reluctantly, finding it difficult to follow his own advice. He had once passed Legolas off as his son, and truly no father could feel more affection for his child than Glorfindel felt for Legolas. He feared for Aragorn's safety as well, for he knew Elrond would be heartbroken if anything happened to his young kinsman and foster-son.

The next morning, when Glorfindel arose he found all the Elves standing ready to depart, each having broken fast on a bite of lembas and a sip of water. Honoring their desire to see to their friends' safety, Glorfindel at once gave orders for them to move out, breaking his own fast as they marched.

As Glorfindel and his Elves were resuming their journey through Midgewater Marsh, Aragorn was beginning his third day in the camp of the Men who had captured him. He once more took care to awake before Saul did, and he made a great show of respond to all orders with great speed and diligence. For all that, however, he had no opportunity to overhear any conversations that shed any light on the Men's reason for journeying to the outskirts of the Shire.

At the end of the day, Aragorn again lay down to sleep. As he rested with eyes closed, he heard footsteps and knew them to be those of the Chief. He slowed and deepened his breathing.

"Sleeps well, that one," said the Chief.

"Aye. Had to kick 'im awake the first mornin'. He's been an early riser ever since."

Saul chuckled, and for a moment Aragorn had to struggle with his anger to keep from giving himself away.

"I'll tell ye, Chief," Saul continued, "couldn' blame 'im if 'e did sleep late. It's bin hurry up 'n' wait these past few days. When'er we gonna see some loot?"

"Soon. Soon. Waitin' fer one last scout to get back from Bree. Then we'll move on 'em. Steal ev'rythin' that's not nailed down, snatch us some o' those Halflings, kill the rest, and burn ev'rythin' so no one won't know we've got us prisoners."

"Why snatch the runts? There's Men among the Bree folk. Whyn't we steal some o' their boys? Boys'd be more useful than Halflings. They can tote for us now, 'n' then they grow up to wield swords. Halfling runts, even the grown ones, like as not couldn't even pick up a sword!"

"True. Gen'r'ly I _would_ say kill the Halflings and snatch the boys, but we hain't stealin' 'em fer ourselves. I've got a buyer what will pay a premium for ev'ry runt we kin deliver."

"Really?" said Saul eagerly.

"Aye, 'n' after we hit Bree, we're gonna raid that strip o' land they call Buckland. There's one dwelling there swarmin' with runts. We'll snatch a few, burn down the place, 'n' nobody'll be the wiser.

"Wonder why they're so valuable," said Saul thoughtfully. "And who wants 'im so much?"

"Don' know why they're so valuable, an' don' care," said the Chief carelessly. "Just as long as they _are_ valuable."

The two Men chortled.

"Not sure who wants'em, neither," the Chief continued. "Never did see the Man's face. Kept 'is hood up the whole time. But I seen 'is gold—and it was shiny enough. Good thing we already got a fair number o' boys, cause we'll need 'em to haul bags 'n' bags of it."

"And the loot from Bree," Saul reminded him.

"Aye, that, too," the Chief chuckled. "Well, I'd best check the sentries. They hain't been too doo-tee-ful lately."

"Why bother? You hain't afraid of no Halflings, are ye?"

"No, but those Rangers wander here from time to time. Murderous creatures, they be."

"Ugh," shuddered Saul. "Rangers! Wouldn't want to encounter one o' them."

Once again Aragorn struggled to control himself, this time to keep from smiling. He heard the Chief move away, and at last he allowed himself to sleep.

In the morning Aragorn strolled to the stream, still forcing himself to walk slowly. As he knelt on the bank, he urgently told Legolas what he had heard.

"So they await the return from Bree of one of their spies," said Legolas thoughtfully.

"Aye."

"But if he is long in coming, they will continue to wait—at least for a little while."

"You mean to delay the spy's return?"

"Yes," said Legolas, stroking his bow. "Yes, I do believe I shall."

Just then a quarrel broke out in the camp. Two of the Men were rolling in the dirt, flailing and punching at each other. Other Men rushed to separate them.

"Aragorn," Legolas said suddenly, "fetch me an arrow from the quiver of one of those Men. Be sure you know whose it is."

Aragorn arose and hurried back to Saul's campfire. As he neared it, he tripped and spilled the water in the kettle on Saul's bedroll.

"You idiot!" shouted Saul, advancing on Aragorn with fists clenched.

Aragorn cowered at his feet.

"I'm sorry, Master Saul! I'm sorry! I'll fetch more water straight away, I will. An', an', an', seein' as how yer blankit is wet 'n' muddy, I'll wash it. Yes, sir, Master Saul," he blubbered, "I'll wash it white as snow."

"It's a green blanket, ye fool, but wash it you will. And I want me boots polished agin!"

"Yes, sir, Master Saul. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

Watching this performance, Legolas grinned. He knew that Aragorn had a bit of a flair for the dramatic, but he had not been aware of the full extent of Aragorn's histrionic talent. He tucked the knowledge away for future reference, for it occurred to him that he should enlist Aragorn into his next scheme for playing a trick on Elrohir and Elladan, one which might require a bit of play-acting.

Aragorn stumbled about the camp, dropping and picking up the blanket several times. At last he made his way to the stream. As he unrolled the blanket, an arrow came to light, which he hid in a patch of ferns. He also drew forth his sword, and likewise hid it in the ferns. Legolas raised his eyebrows and for a moment looked like a golden-haired version of Lord Elrond, but he forbore commenting upon the sword.

"Whose arrow is it?" asked Legolas.

"It came from the quiver of the Man with the red edging on his tunic."

"Not the Man with the silver belt buckle?"

"No."

"Good."

Aragorn washed the blanket and spread it to dry on a bush, knowing all the while that Legolas was watching the camp. At length the inevitable happened. The Man with the red edging on his tunic stepped into the woods to make water. Aragorn was glad to see that he took his bow with him. Almost as soon as the Man disappeared into the woods, Legolas struck. The Man with the silver belt buckle, who had but lately been fighting with the other Man, suddenly collapsed onto his face. An arrow protruded from his back. Other Men swarmed around. One pointed at the arrow.

"Hey, that's Jackson's fletching!"

"The murderous thug!" shouted another.

"Well, König shouldn'ha meddled with him," protested a third, a friend to Jackson, apparently. The Men began to choose sides. First shoves, next blows, then knife thrusts, and as quick as Orcs the Men had launched into a mêlée. Swearing furiously, the Chief laid about him with a cudgel, trying to break apart the brawlers, but before he could do so, three more were dead and seven wounded, two dreadfully so. Among the dead lay Jackson, who had, upon reappearing, been set upon by four Men at once.

Aragorn contrived to hide his satisfaction at the outcome by huddling with the boys and looking frightened. His only disappointment: Saul was not among the dead, and now he shouted at Aragorn to come help haul the four bodies into the woods.

"We need to take 'em far enough so's they don' stink up the camp," growled Saul. That was all the ceremony that the Men provided for disposing of their erstwhile companions.

When they returned from dumping the bodies, Saul discovered that Aragorn's sword was missing. He flew into a fury, assuming that one of the other Men had stolen it. He stormed around the camp, kicking over packs and shouting accusations. Now Aragorn had the even greater satisfaction of seeing the Chief, who was already maddened by the brawl and attendant loss of Men, suddenly turn on Saul. He rushed at Saul with his cudgel, struck him down, and proceeded to kick him viciously until the Man was groveling and begging for mercy. Then he spat upon him and walked away, gesturing at Aragorn to follow him.

"You, boy" he snarled. "You serve me from now on. That other one can fend fer himself."

Actually, at that moment Saul did not particularly look as if he could fend for himself, but that was not Aragorn's concern. He obediently followed the Chief to his campfire, and the Man handed him the camp kettle. The day grew late, and it was time to prepare the evening meal. Aragorn strolled to the stream. He had seen no sign of Legolas since the Elf had dispatched Hugo and precipitated the riot. Was the Elf still near? He saw and heard nothing. Not knowing whether to be disappointed or hopeful, he returned to the Chief's campfire.

The next morning, as he knelt by the stream a stick fell upon his head.

"Legolas!" he protested in a whisper.

"Sorry. Couldn't resist. It's amusing to see you behaving with so meekly. Thought I might as well take advantage of it while it lasts."

"Did you intercept the spy?"

"Oh, yes," Legolas said casually. "He won't be reporting back to camp anytime soon. And I went on to Bree and had a word with Butterbur. The Bree-landers will be ready to give these Men a fine reception. You may be sure that they will spare no effort to welcome the scoundrels just as they deserve."

"That's good, but the Periannath of Buckland still know nothing of the peril that hangs over them."

"Ah, but if the Bree-folk deal with these villains properly, there won't _be_ any peril hanging over the Hobbits. And now, Aragorn, as all is arranged, will you slip away from these Men?"

"Legolas, if I run off now, they are the likelier to be on their guard when they attack Bree, for they will fear that I have spread word of their presence. No, I must remain with them."

"Aragorn!"

"Don't worry, my friend. _I_ am not in danger. But those boys are. That's another reason I need to stay. I don't want them to be caught up in the Bree-landers' ambush."

"Aragorn, the Bree-landers won't kill children."

"They wouldn't set out to kill children. But if things are going ill for those Men, they would think nothing of thrusting swords into the hands of those boys and pushing them into the front lines. If I were a Bree-lander and someone came at me swinging a sword, I would kill him, be he bearded or no."

"True."

"Good. We are agreed then. I will stay with the Men. You trail us. Oh, and do be sure to bring along my sword."

"Of course."

Aragorn arose and returned to the Chief's campfire. During the night, the two badly injured Men died, and the Chief decided that they would wait no longer for the missing scout.

"The Men are gettin' jumpy," he muttered to himself, watching as yet another shoving match broke out. "If we stay here much longer, they'll kill each other off one by one."

The Men cheered when the Chief told them that they would march to Bree that day and attack it as soon as night fell. As they hastily broke camp, he called to Aragorn.

"Six Men be dead. You are tall and strong, older than most boys we take on."

"You mean 'kidnap'," Aragorn thought grimly to himself, but aloud he said nothing.

"I'm goin' to make ye wealthy, lad. You carry a sword tonight, and you'll share in the booty. Seems like you'd want to profit from it, as you'll have to carry it," he chortled.

Aragorn pretended to be frightened.

"I hain't never fought no Bree-landers," he whimpered.

"Mebbe not, but y'told me you fought an Elf."

"You-you-you were right, sir," Aragorn stammered. "I didn't tell you the entire truth about how I came by that sword."

Which was true, of course. He had told the truth, but not the _entire_ truth.

Luckily, the Chief did not become angry, for he immediately succumbed to self-congratulation at his having been right.

"Hah! I thought so. Tell ye what, then, you guard the boys—that'd free up another Man fer the attack."

"Oh, yes, sir—that's somethin' I kin do. Thank you, sir."

The Chief strutted off feeling very satisfied with himself. Aragorn seized the camp kettle and made one last trip to the stream. Shortly thereafter, a lithe figure silently slipped from a tree, retrieved a sword from its hiding place, and hastened off ahead of the marauders, making for Bree. Once there, Legolas found a new hiding place for the sword, this time in a hollow tree that had been left lying in a field near Bree. It was a spot that he had scouted in company with Aragorn. After hiding the sword, he went on to Bree, pulling up his hood as he did so.

"So they will attack tonight," said Butterbur anxiously, placing a mug of ale in front of his hooded guest. It was not Legolas' favorite beverage, but he did not wish to draw attention to that fact. He picked up the mug and took a sip, trying not to be too delicate about it.

"Aye, Master Butterbur. They march this way as we speak."

"Well, I'm bound to believe ye, Master Leif, as you've proved yourself honest in the past. I'll rouse the folk hereabouts. We'll see that the walls are defended!"

"Good. These scoundrels do not expect any resistance. Although the Men and Hobbits of Bree are no warriors, they will be defending their lives and their families. I do not doubt but that they will be able to hold off thieves who fight for loot only and who in the end will value their hides over anything they may be able to carry off from your town. For myself, I will take up a position with my bow on a roof facing the direction from which the marauders will attack."

"Ah, you have some skill as an archer?"

"Yes," Legolas said modestly. "I believe that I do."

By nightfall, Legolas was crouched behind a chimney on a house whose back faced the town's stockade. He could sense the approach of the marauders, even though he could not see them yet.

The Chief marched his Men into a field near Bree. Beyond a thin fringe of trees lay the town. He called to Aragorn.

"You stay here and guard the packs and the boys." He handed Aragorn a cudgel. "This should be enough to keep 'em in line. Don't hesitate to use it."

"No, sir."

Aragorn had no intention of using the cudgel, but he didn't think it would be necessary, anyhow. The boys were much too beaten down to think of resisting.

"Will have to cure them of that," Aragorn thought fiercely. "Warm clothes and plentiful food would probably go a long way toward restoring their spirits."

The Men marched away, and the boys dropped their packs and threw themselves upon the ground. Several were asleep within minutes. As for Aragorn, he sat down near the end of a hollow tree that had been left lying in the field. He seemed to be amusing himself by poking his cudgel into the opening in the log.

The marauders stopped in the cover of the line of trees and peered at the town as the sun sank toward the west. Smoke drifted from chimneys, and they heard the shouts of mothers calling their children in for the evening meal. The raiders saw no one about the stockade. The Chief grinned and slapped Saul on the back, apparently forgiving Saul for his earlier indiscretion. Saul winced as the Chief's hand landed on a bruise.

"Easy pickins', eh, Saul?"

"Yes, sir," mumbled Saul.

"You fight well, an' I'll give ye that boy back to carry yer loot."

Saul cheered up a trifle.

"Thankee, Chief."

The Chief waved aside his thanks in the fashion of a magnanimous leader. He returned to watching the town. The lights began to wink out in the houses. At length the Chief decided that it was time to move forward. The Men crept stealthily toward the walls of Bree. When they were just beneath them, suddenly the Men and Hobbits of Bree revealed themselves. They perched on the stockade and threw rocks and poured boiling water upon the would-be invaders. A few were armed with bows, although by far the greatest threat from arrows was represented by a hooded figure who was balanced upon a roof.

The Chief swore.

"Saul," he shouted. "We need'ta overwhelm 'em in a rush. Fetch the boys! We'll send 'em forward. That'll give us the cover we need."

Saul scuttled back to where the boys lay resting. He reached down and yanked one up by the arm.

"Yer gonna earn yer keep today," he snarled. "Yer goin' inter battle."

Fearfully, the boy twisted out of Saul's grip and backed away from the Man.

"I don' wanter fight," the boy gibbered.

Saul brandished his sword and advanced on the terrified child.

"Won't fight, ye brat? Then I'll cut yer throat."

"Not. If. I. Cut. Your. Throat. First," growled Aragorn, suiting his actions to his words. Saul fell dead at his feet. Stunned, the boys stared at Aragorn as he stood before them hefting his elven sword in both hands.

"Run, boys, run! But stay together and don't go too far."

The boys turned to make for the cover of the woods, but just then, there was an unexpected development. A company of Elves burst from the tree line, bows drawn. The boys shrieked and threw themselves on the ground. Aragorn ran toward the Elves shouting and waving his sword about like a mad person.

"Hold your fire! Hold your fire!"

Panting, he dashed up to Glorfindel and gestured at the cowering youths.

"They're only boys, Glorfindel. Look, they're not even armed!"

Glorfindel stared at him sardonically.

"We're Elves, Aragorn. Do you really think that we wouldn't have noticed that they're unarmed boys? Now, if you wouldn't mind, I hear the clash of weapons in the distance—elven hearing, you know—and I'd like to lead my warriors into the battle before it has concluded altogether."

Abashed, Aragorn stood aside, and Glorfindel's troops marched by. He considered following after them, but as soon as the Elves had passed, the boys clustered about him, looking at him expectantly.

"We will take shelter in the woods till all danger is past," he declared and then led them into the forest. His part in the battle was over for the day, and it was now his task to guide and to govern, small though the compass of this 'government' might be.

Glorfindel and his Elves advanced steadily toward Bree, but they did not in fact make it to the actual walls of the town before the battle ended. From his perch where he had been methodically picking off the attackers, Legolas at last found himself with a clear shot at the Chief. As soon as Legolas' arrow felled their leader, the other Men lost heart altogether and turned tail and ran—straight into the withering fire of Glorfindel's bowmen. They left none alive. Legolas had been right; after the rout at Bree, Buckland would no longer be in peril.

Seeing that the battle was over, Legolas now slipped out of Bree. He had never lowered his hood, and the Bree-landers were never to know that one of the Fair Folk had been amongst them. They were also never to know that a troop of Elves had marched almost to the very gates of their town, for as soon as the last of the attackers had been felled, Glorfindel ordered his archers to retrieve their shafts and retire to the forest, leaving the Bree-landers with quite a mystery on their hands, for they now had to account for the dead Men who were scattered in the fields outside their town.

Once Glorfindel and his warriors had rejoined Aragorn, Glorfindel had a very agreeable reunion with both Aragorn and Legolas. He pretended to cuff the ears on both of their heads. Then he stood back and allowed the younger Elves to swarm the two.

"Legolas," teased Celaithand, "can you go nowhere without getting into trouble?"

"_I _didn't get into trouble; _Estel_ did. I came back from my journey to the Shire to find our camp in Buckland deserted. I set about tracking our missing Ranger and discovered his pack rifled, its contents strewn about—oh, yes, and some half-digested mushrooms." Here Legolas made a face. "What possessed you to eat those mushrooms, Aragorn?"

"I thought they were safe," Aragorn said lamely.

"Then you had better let Erestor give you a refresher course in Natural History!"

After allowing a considerable amount of this species of chaffing, Glorfindel at last stepped back into the conversation. There were matters that needed to be attended to. Glorfindel gestured at the youngsters who huddled together nearby, shivering with both cold and fear.

"What are we to do with these boys?"

"They are guilty," said Aragorn hastily, "of nothing more than of being kinless and friendless."

"Yes, I understand that," said Glorfindel impatiently. "But what are we to _do_ with them?"

"I have been told," said Aragorn thoughtfully, "that when I was little I wandered so far from Rivendell that I fell into the hands of Dunlendings, and those folk tried to keep me because they suffered from a dearth of children."

"That's true," said Glorfindel. "I remember that well."

"They still suffer from a dearth of children, do they not?"

"I believe so. You think they might take in these boys?"

"Perhaps. It will not hurt to ask. They may take at least some of them."

Legolas had an additional suggestion.

"Butterbur has spoken of needing another boy or two. We might ask him as well. Indeed, he might not be the only Bree-lander who would take on a boy."

Early next morning, Aragorn slipped into Bree to make inquiries as to whether anyone needed a boy or two. In the end, four of the older boys found homes in Bree-land. The smith in Combe took one boy, the miller in Archet took another, and Butterbur took two into his employ. The Dunlendings, as Aragorn had expected, gladly adopted the remaining youngsters. Some families, like Hyge's, had succeeded in raising many healthy children, but theirs was the exception. In that harsh land, sturdy children who had survived the perils of infancy were therefore in great demand. The Elves could have brought twice as many boys to Dunland, and the Dunlendings would have taken them all. Aragorn, not to mention Middle Earth, was very, very lucky that Legolas had succeeded in tracking down the heir of Isildur that time long ago when he had wandered into the hands of those folk. Otherwise, it is easy to imagine his having become a farmer in Dunland!

Several weeks after departing from Rivendell, Legolas and Aragorn returned to Elrond's Hall.

"First thing I'm going to do," said Legolas happily, "is take a proper bath."

"You washed in that stream just yesterday," observed Aragorn.

"I said a _proper_ bath, Aragorn."

However, Legolas' plans for a proper bath had to be put aside for the moment. Erestor arrived to summon them to Elrond's private chamber. Young Elf and young Man followed the older Elf to Elrond's chamber. Elrond stood facing the door as they entered.

"I am glad you have returned," said Elrond. Then he stepped aside.

"Gandalf," exclaimed Aragorn.

"Mithrandir," smiled Legolas.

Gandalf smiled in return; then he stepped aside as well. Legolas was thunderstruck.

"Ada!"

"I am glad you are well, my son," said Thranduil. "I thought you might like some company on your ride _back_ to Greenwood." His grin was every bit as mischievous as his son's customarily was.

Legolas stood there with his mouth open, which was an extremely unusual expression for any Elf, let alone the Prince of Mirkwood. Gandalf cleared his throat.

"I think, Legolas, that you have been outfoxed by the master himself. Has your father never told you the tales of the tricks that he played upon his own father?

"No, he hasn't," Legolas said sheepishly, "but apparently I had better learn more about that stage of his life."

Gandalf laughed heartily.

"Yes, I think you should. Of course, you two will have plenty of time to share stories of your respective adventures on the way home, won't you?"

"Of course," said Legolas lightly. He was beginning to recover his equanimity. Thranduil smiled at him; Legolas smiled back.

Later that evening Gandalf and Elrond shared a glass of wine in private. It was the first time in several months that they had been able to indulge in this old custom of theirs.

"So Galadriel proved to be correct in her prediction that Aragorn would get into trouble," mused Elrond.

"Of course she proved to be correct. When has she not?"

"True," conceded Elrond. "But I had hoped she would be wrong in this one instance. I suppose it is likely that her other predictions will prove correct as well—that he will get into trouble in Dunland and Moria and Gondor and etcetera, etcetera."

"Undoubtedly," said Gandalf, taking a sip from his glass. "However, I am not concerned about Aragorn at present—although I probably shall be later. I have something else on my mind."

"You are worried about Legolas, then?"

"No, that young Elf has demonstrated a remarkable facility for landing on his feet—both literally and figuratively, as per usual."

"I had noticed," said Elrond wryly. "I can recall several memorable episodes that illustrated said facility, including the time Legolas slid down a hill whilst standing upon a shield—and it was Glorfindel's shield, too!"

Elf and wizard shared a laugh. Then Gandalf sobered.

"Does it not strike you as odd, Elrond, that the Men should have planned to capture Halflings?"

"Yes, I did think it peculiar. Usually Men wish to enslave those capable of laboring the hardest. But perhaps there is some task for which Periannath are more suited than Men, a task which favors the small rather than the powerful."

"Either that," said Gandalf thoughtfully, "or they weren't wanted as slaves in the first place. Why all the secrecy, after all? From what Aragorn has reported, the attack on Bree was actually a cover for the capture of Hobbits. Those who hold slaves, such as the Haradrim, have never disguised the fact."

"You are thinking, my friend?"

"I am thinking," said Gandalf, more to himself than Elrond. "I am thinking that the Hobbits were wanted for questioning. Someone wanted information, and that information had to come from Halflings."

"What would the Periannath of Bree know that the Men of Bree would not?"

"Don't forget, Elrond, that the marauders also planned to capture Hobbits from Buckland."

"Still, what would any of these Periannath know that the Men thereabouts would not know?"

"They would be more likely to be familiar with the inhabitants of the Shire," said Gandalf reflectively. "If I wanted news of the Shire, and didn't wish to risk slaying a particular Shire Hobbit, I'd raid Buckland and the territory of Bree for my informants."

"But, Mithrandir," objected Elrond, "if someone wanted news of a _particular_ Shire Hobbit, why not target that one Hobbit?"

"Ah," said Gandalf briskly, "the person wanting news may know that there _is_ a particular Shire Hobbit, but doesn't know which one he may be. And he is fearful lest the Hobbit be inadvertently slain during an attack, for if he were, a secret would die with him."

Elrond shook his head, bewildered.

"I suppose," he ventured, "that you are not going to tell me _what_ secret will die with him."

"Oh, no," said Gandalf airily, "for I am not sure of the secret myself."

"Are you sure of _any_ part of this story, Mithrandir?"

"Certainly not," the wizard replied cheerfully.

"You will pardon me if I roll my eyes."

"Go right ahead, Elrond. And raise your eyebrows while you're at it."

Elrond scowled at Gandalf.

"_Must_ you always be so enigmatic?"

"Yes. I'm a wizard, if you hadn't noticed."

"I could hardly have failed to notice."

"Well," said Gandalf, putting down his wine glass, "now that we have had this little chat, I think that I shall retire to my room." He sighed a little. "Pity that Thranduil left Edwen Nana behind in Mirkwood."

"Legolas' nursemaid?" said Elrond, puzzled. "Of course Thranduil left her behind. Legolas doesn't need a nursemaid. On the other hand," he added wryly, "a warder would be useful at times!"

"Ah, but she's much more than a nursemaid," Gandalf replied wistfully. "She is, she is, why, she is the person who has ever been diligent in making me as comfortable as I may be."

"What's this?" said Elrond, perturbed. "Are you saying that my servants have not been making you sufficiently comfortable, so that you long for the care you have received in Thranduil's household? This shall not stand! I assure you, Mithrandir, that you have only to ask for any service and it shall be provided you. Indeed, I will serve you personally, if it comes to that!"

Gandalf chuckled.

"I assure you, Elrond, it will _not _come to that!"

He arose.

"Do not fear: your servants have always served me to the best of their abilities and imaginations. Happens that Edwen Nana's imagination is exceptionally fertile, is all, and she has—other talents. Good night!"

With that, Gandalf strode from the room, leaving Elrond puzzled. However, as Elrond was used to being puzzled by the wizard, he did not think overmuch of it. Gandalf, alas, may have dwelt upon the matter a little longer that night, but it obvious, Reader, that he survived, for his adventures were not yet at an end.


	49. Lies, Damned Lies, and Statistics

**_Kelly Kragen: _Yes, it is probably a safe bet that Saruman is behind the raid. In Tolkien's Middle-earth, Saruman comes to realize that Gandalf has a great interest in the Shire. Ergo, in my Middle-earth, he takes steps to satisfy his curiosity.**

**_Grumpy: _Yes, it seems to be poetic justice that Glorfindel should end up mired in the marsh after he has tricked Aragorn and Legolas into slogging through it.**

**_Nerwen_****: Thank you. Aragorn and Legolas weren't doing too badly, but it was good that they were backed up by Glorfindel. Otherwise some of the marauders might have escaped.**

**_R.K.: _Hello! I see that you have just reviewed Chapter 1. I hope you keep reading and get this far so that you see my greeting!**

**_Dragonfly: _Yes, Saul and the Chief both got what they deserved. Did you notice that Saul had bragged about once cutting the throat of a boy who wouldn't be still? Remember that Marta's brother dies when a Man cuts his throat because he protested at the way his mother was being treated? Believe me, Saul got _exactly_ what he deserved.**

**_Joee_****: Ah, I see how a reader could think that the Southron whom Aragorn killed earlier was the scout sent out by the marauders. However, he was a separate villain, although I could have made that clearer by specifying that the marauders' scout went into Bree itself and did not remain camped outside. I never call the marauders Southrons, but I do describe them as having come from the south, so it would be logical for a reader to assume that they _were_ Southrons.**

**_Mystwing: _****I will have to set up a situation where Thranduil talks with Legolas about his own youth and the mischief he got into.**

**_Joee_****and _Kelly Kragen_ both wanted a chapter in which Aragorn poses to Erestor the arithmetic problem that requires one to calculate how many maidens Glorfindel bedded during the Second Age. Herewith is said chapter!**

**Chapter 49: Lies, Damned Lies, and Statistics**

"You won't," said Legolas.

"Yes, I will," insisted Aragorn.

"Well, you can if you want to," exclaimed Legolas, "but _I_ am going to make myself scarce. I don't want to be around to see what happens! When I return, would you like me to bury you, or would you prefer to be consigned to a funeral pyre?"

Aragorn swatted at the Elf, who easily evaded him and vanished into the trees outside the garden, leaving the young Ranger to return alone to Elrond's Hall. Once there, he made his way to Elrond's private chamber, where he found the elf lord relaxing in the company of Elladan, Elrohir, and Erestor. Thranduil had retired for the night, and Glorfindel was absent, preparing to go out on patrol, which, thought Aragorn, was all to the good.

"Mae govannen, Aragorn," Elrond greeted him. "We are all very glad that you and Legolas have returned safely from your journey to the west."

"Thank you, Elrond."

Elrond gestured at him to take a seat and handed him a glass of wine.

"I understand from what Glorfindel has told me that you have had many adventures. You must be looking forward to a period of respite before you resume your travels."

"It is true, Elrond, that there were times when the journey was exciting and eventful, but I also found myself with ample opportunities for reflection, occasions when nothing transpired and I was free to indulge myself in mental pursuits."

This eloquent exposition was not in the nature of a typical speech from the Dúnadan, and both Elrond's eyebrows shot up at once. Erestor, however, was captivated by curiosity.

"Mental pursuits, you say?"

"Yes, Erestor. I posed problems for myself that necessitated the greatest of concentration, such as, for example, arithmetic exercises involving the multiplication and the division of large sums."

"Ah, mental arithmetic," enthused Erestor. "I pray you, do share an example with us!"

"Certainly, Erestor," said Aragorn obligingly. "Imagine that an army of Elves is marching on Southern Mirkwood. The army consists of one-hundred and seventeen patrols. Each patrol has twenty archers. Each archer bears twenty-five arrows in his quiver. The army encounters nine-hundred and ninety-nine Orcs and the archers expend all their arrows. On average, how many arrows were shot per Orc, rounded to the nearest arrow, of course?"

"Why, there's nothing simpler!" exclaimed Erestor. "First you determine the total number of arrows, which is arrived at by multiplying one-hundred seventeen by twenty, and then multiplying that product by twenty-five. Fifty-eight thousand five hundred arrows. Then you merely divide that final product by the number of Orcs. Fifty-eight thousand five hundred arrows divided by nine-hundred ninety-nine goblins. That would result in the firing of a little over fifty-eight and a half arrows per Orc. Per the terms of the problem, I will round up to fifty-nine. Fifty-nine arrows per Orc. A bit of an overkill, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes," agreed Aragorn, keeping his face perfectly straight. "But I devised another problem that was not so straightforward, one that I was unable to solve. Could I trouble you with this second problem?"

"Certainly, Aragorn. I would be delighted!"

"You are sure that you would not mind, Erestor?"

"Of course not, my dear boy! Why should I mind doing an arithmetic problem?"

"Very well. Here it is then: During the Second Age, Glorfindel the balrog-slayer beds nine maidens per fortnight. Given that the Second Age lasts for 3,441 years, by the end of the Second Age, how many maidens has Glorfindel bedded, rounded to the nearest maiden, as per usual?"

Elladan and Elrohir gasped. Elrond, with an effort, kept his eyebrows in place. Erestor stared open-mouthed at Aragorn for several seconds before collecting his wits and speaking.

"I am going to solve this problem," Erestor said grimly. He took a deep breath.

"It is really quite simple," he intoned. "A matter of division and multiplication. With proper attention to detail, I shall have no difficulty whatsoever."

"First," he continued, "we need to take into account the number of weeks in the year—"

Elrohir groaned.

"—the number of weeks in the year," repeated Erestor, shooting an indignant look at Elrohir. "I trust you remember that number, Elrohir."

"Fifty-two," muttered Elrohir, abashed.

"Exactly. Fifty-two. But Aragorn has specified amorous activity per each two week period. Which means, Elrohir?"

Elrohir gaped at his old tutor.

"Hmmph," snorted Erestor. "Not so clever after all, are we?" He turned to Elladan.

"What say you, Elladan? Do you remember more mathematics than your laggard brother?"

"I suppose," said Elladan slowly, "that, as Aragorn has specified amorous activity per each two week period, we must divide the year into segments, each two weeks in length."

"And how shall we do that, Elladan?"

"Um, by dividing fifty-two by two?"

"Excellent. Which gives us?"

"Twenty-six!" shouted Elrohir, anxious to redeem himself.

"So you are capable of simple division," said Erestor tartly. "Let us see what else you are capable of. Are we confining ourselves to the amorous accomplishments of one year's time?"

"No," smirked Elladan. "We have the entire Second Age to consider—all three-thousand four-hundred forty-one years of it."

"Well, Elrohir," said Erestor, "what use must we make of the number three-thousand four-hundred forty-one?"

Elrohir was once again reduced to gaping foolishly.

"I know," said Elladan triumphantly. "It is necessary to multiply three-thousand four-hundred forty-one by the number of fortnights per year."

"And, again, that is?" prompted Erestor.

"Twenty-six," replied Elladan promptly.

"Which gives us?"

Elladan's face fell. He had been better at mental arithmetic than Elrohir during the centuries during which they had been lessoned by Erestor, but lately the figuring he had been required to do in his head had run along the lines of, "One bottle of wine can serve four guests. Sixteen guests will be attending. How many bottles of wine should we filch from the wine cellar?" Multiplying three-thousand four-hundred forty-one by twenty-six was a bit out of his ken, to put it mildly.

"Well?" said Erestor impatiently.

"I'm thinking! I'm thinking! Uh, uh—eighty-nine thousand four-hundred and sixty-six!"

"Took you long enough," growled Erestor. "Now, eighty-nine thousand four-hundred and sixty-six _what_?"

"What?"

"_What_ does that number measure?" exclaimed Erestor, exasperated.

"Oh, yes, of course: number of fortnights within the given period."

"And why did we want to know the number of fortnights?"

"To, to, to, oh, why ever _did_ we want to know the number of fortnights!?" stammered Elladan. Now it was Elrohir's turn to smirk.

"If Glorfindel bedded nine maidens per fortnight, how many maidens did he bed during the Second Age?"

"That is indeed the question, Elrohir. And the answer is?"

Elladan snickered as Elrohir's face lost its smirk and assumed a look of intense concentration instead. "Total number of fortnights times number of maidens per fortnight," he murmured. "Um, that means I must take eighty-nine thousand four-hundred and sixty-six and multiply it by nine."

It took Elrohir several minutes to work out the problem. At last he said tentatively, "Eight-hundred-five thousand one-hundred ninety-four?"

"Correct. Assuming that Glorfindel bedded nine maidens every fortnight for three-thousand four-hundred forty-one years, he would at the end of that time have bedded exactly that number of maidens."

"Not necessarily, Erestor," interjected Elrond, who had been listening to this entire discussion with the greatest of amusement.

"What do you mean?" spluttered Erestor.

"That would be the number of times Glorfindel bedded a maiden, period. As he may have bedded some maidens on more than one occasion, it does not represent the total number of _maidens_ bedded. To determine _that_ number, you need more information. For example, Glorfindel may have bedded ten percent of the maidens five times each over the course of the centuries, twenty-five percent one time only, thirty percent four times per, and so on and so forth."

"Fine," growled Erestor. "_You_ go ask him the number of times he bedded each particular maiden. I'll warrant that if you do, you'll never again bed any maidens of your own!"

He turned to Aragorn.

"Well, young sir, I hope you are satisfied with the solution to the problem that you posed!"

"Oh, yes," Aragorn assured him. "Impressive! Quite impressive!"

Elrond hid his smile. It occurred to him that it was rather likely that Aragorn meant not that Erestor's performance had been impressive but that Glorfindel's had been!

"Well?" said Legolas later that evening when he returned from the forest.

"Well what?" said Aragorn insouciantly.

"Did you ask him?"

"Of course. I told you that I would."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What _happened_, you obtuse human!?"

"Obtuse," intoned Aragorn as insouciantly as before. "An angle that is larger than ninety degrees." He turned and began to walk away.

"Aragorn!" fumed Legolas.

"Next time," the Dúnadan called over his shoulder, "do not absent yourself when Erestor gives a demonstration of mental arithmetic. You have only yourself to blame for your ignorance!"

With that, Legolas scrambled about for the fallen fruit scattered under an apple tree and began to fling said fruit after the retreating Ranger. Reader, I leave you with an arithmetic problem. If an Elf flings an average of seventeen apples per minute for five minutes—and never misses—how often does he succeed in pelting his unfortunate target? When you have solved this problem, then and only then will we recommence our study of the history of the concluding years of the Third Age.


	50. Between A Rock And A Hard Place

**_Cosmic Castaway: _Thank you. I am very glad that you like the humor. I certainly enjoy trying to work it in!**

**_Legosgurl_****: Events are moving back toward Lothlórien, so I promise you that Haldir and his brothers will reappear.**

**_Huan_****_ Curthalion: _I _loved_ your review. Wish I'd written that! Hey, everybody, go read _Huan__ Curthalion's _review of Chapter 49. It is a hysterically funny analysis of what would have happened when those apples hit the target.**

**_Grumpy: _I should make sure that Glorfindel hears about that arithmetic problem. Probably he'll be strutting around bragging about his stats.**

**_Kelly Kragen: _You get your wish. Erestor and Marta put in an appearance in this chapter.**

**_Dragonfly: _Yes, Erestor pretty much held his own in the face of Aragorn's provocative question. Elladan and Elrohir (especially Elrohir—poetic justice!) bore the brunt of things. I think you are right that Glorfindel would have actually enjoyed the conversation, and as I said above to _Grumpy_, at some point I should make sure that the balrog-slayer hears about it.**

**_JC-Puzzler: _Alright, _JC-Puzzler_! I'll bet your _Star_ _Wars_ story is going to be great. After all, you can tell from your review that you've got a great sense of humor. And, ahem, since you were so complimentary toward my own story in your review, I hereby forgive you for being a lurker and absolve you from all shame and guilt pertaining thereunto. (With a flourish, author magnanimously signs indulgence and graciously presents it to penitent lurker.)**

**_Elvendancer_****: I dunno, _Elvendancer_—when you read _Huan__ Curthalion's _take on what must have happened, it makes you feel that it was very unlikely that Aragorn could have done anything but cower!**

**_Joee_****: If the fruit was soft, Aragorn would have been covered with applesauce rather than bruises. (This is another plug for _Huan__ Curthalion's _review.)**

**_To Everybody: _Yep, Aragorn was hit with 85 apples, hopefully ripe and rotten. (Yep, another plug—hey, folks, have you ever thought of reviews as an art form? You've got to admit that some reviews are really, really good—sometimes because they ask thoughtful questions, sometimes because they make insightful observations, sometimes because they are filled with humor. I know that I don't feel that a chapter is finished until folks have reviewed it. I guess it's kind of like a dialogue, and the conversation isn't complete until the reviewers have spoken.)**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly._**

**Chapter 50: Between a Rock and a Hard Place**

Elrohir was gloomy.

"Did you hear Thranduil talking to Ada at supper last night?"

"Yes," answered Elladan, equally gloomy. "In one week he departs for Mirkwood, and he takes Legolas with him."

Elrohir sighed.

"Do you think there is anything we can do to convince Thranduil to allow Legolas to remain?"

Elladan shook his head sadly.

"Elrohir, Thranduil has traveled all the way from Mirkwood for no other reason that to retrieve his son. He is not going to turn around and go back without him."

"Perhaps," suggested Elrohir, "we could convince Thranduil himself to remain, which of course would mean that Legolas would as well."

"I doubt it," said Elladan, again shaking his head. "From what he told Ada, he is very anxious to return to his realm."

"Maybe," mused Elrohir, "we can convince Ada to allow us to accompany Legolas to Mirkwood."

"Not very likely," said Elladan. "Ada was telling Glorfindel that he means to send us out shortly on some errand or another. I suppose that in a little while we will be summoned to receive instructions."

Elladan was right. At supper, Elrond told his two eldest sons that he wished to see them in his private chamber before they retired for the night. Obediently, they joined him after sundown.

"Ah, Elladan, Elrohir. Good," the elf lord said briskly. "Would you be prepared to ride out in a week?"

"Yes, Ada," chorused the twins, their eyes lighting up. Could it be a coincidence that Legolas, too, was riding out in a week?

Elrond laughed at their expressions.

"Yes," he said, smiling, "you will indeed be accompanying Legolas. But," he added, before his sons could break into excited speech, "you will not be riding all the way to Mirkwood. Thranduil intends to return to his home via Lothlórien. You will go that far with him. It is time for your sister Arwen to return home, and you will escort her from Lórien to Imladris. I hope you are not too disappointed."

"No," they exclaimed simultaneously. To spend more time with Legolas, and then to see their sister—how could they be disappointed?

"I am glad to hear that," said Elrond.

"But what of Aragorn?" asked Elladan. "Will he not be riding with us? He will be sorry to be parted from Legolas."

"True. But Halbarad has recovered from his injuries, and Aragorn will be going out on patrol with him."

"Then he is not to see Arwen?" said Elrohir.

"Of course he will," replied Elrond. "Aragorn will come back from patrol in several months, and Arwen should have returned with you by then. I suppose," he mused, "that Aragorn will not remember Arwen, as he was a toddler when they met. Indeed, I also doubt that Arwen will be able to recognize Aragorn, so changed he is from the grubby little lad that he was. When they meet, they will be as strangers to one another."

Elrohir grinned.

"Ada, it is true that Aragorn is no longer a' little lad', but as for _grubby_…."

The three Elves shared a laugh. Then Elrond arose and walked to the window to gaze out into the garden. He spied Aragorn fencing with Legolas. "No, no longer a 'little lad'," he said thoughtfully. "Even were it not for the fuzz on his chin, it would be plain that he is a Man. Look how he more than holds his own against Legolas' attempts to thrust past his guard."

"Legolas is a master archer, and no Elf is more skilled at two-bladed fighting," said Elladan, "but even Legolas is no match for Aragorn with a sword."

"That is true," agreed Elrohir.

"Yes," said Elrond. "It is for him, I think, that the shards of Narsil will at last be reforged into the blade that will restore the lands of Gondor and Arnor to their former glory. And that will be the end of the glory of the Elves," he added sadly.

"It will be the end of our glory in Middle-earth," returned Elladan. "But not the end of our tale altogether. And we will leave something of ourselves behind. Aragorn is after all a descendant of Elros."

Elrond shook off his gloom.

"True," he said briskly. "In Arda, something of the Elves will remain forever. And we will bring away with us many memories of this place, memories that will never fade."

Elladan and Elrohir bade their father farewell and went out into the garden to tell Legolas that they were riding with him as far as Lothlórien.

"Excellent!" enthused Legolas. Then he turned to Aragorn. "I am only sorry that you will not be accompanying us, Estel."

"I will be sorry to part from you, Legolas, but I am sure that we journey together on another occasion. Now I should retire for the night. Halbarad and I leave early tomorrow."

"Go well, Aragorn," Legolas and the twins wished him.

"Stay well, my friends," replied Aragorn.

The next morning Halbarad and Aragorn slipped out of Rivendell before dawn. They traveled on foot, for they would be journeying into broken terrain where a horse would be of little use.

"Moreover," Halbarad pointed out, "your elven horse would attract too much attention when we do visit the settlements of Men. It is far too fine a horse to be ridden by a roughly garbed Rider. Our disreputable appearance is our disguise, for we attract little attention—and certainly no one ever thinks of attacking us in order to reive us of our goods!"

A week after the departure of the Dúnedain, Thranduil took his leave, taking with him his son Legolas, of course. The night before, Legolas sat long with Elrond, whom he considered his second father, although he now addressed him by his given name, as did Aragorn.

"Elrond, I am glad to be reunited with my father, and I return to Mirkwood willingly, but at the same time I wish I did not have to leave Rivendell. I will soon see Mithrandir again, for he will undoubtedly journey to Mirkwood sometime in the near future. You, however, will not."

"Mithrandir," mused Elrond, "is probably one of the few who will journey overmuch in the coming years. Aragorn as well, I think. The rest of us more and more shall be trapped within our little realms by the growing power of the forces of the Dark Lord."

"Elrohir and Elladan mean to ride out after their return from Lórien."

"Yes. As long as an Orc still breathes in Middle-earth, they will ride out."

"I would do so as well," said Legolas, "but I think Thranduil will keep me close."

"Yet you will elude him in the end," said a familiar voice.

"Ah, Mithrandir," said Elrond. "Come in."

"I am already in," replied the wizard airily. "So, Legolas, tomorrow you depart for Mirkwood."

"Yes, Mithrandir. And you will shortly once again set out for the Shire, is that not so?"

"Yes. I mean to arrange to have more Watchers placed upon its borders. The raid that you and Aragorn were caught up in was rather too near the mark. I don't intend to let any other marauders draw near undescried."

"Mithrandir," began Legolas.

"No," said the wizard.

"But you haven't heard me out!" exclaimed Legolas. "How do you know what I was going to ask?"

"You were about to ask me what treasure is hidden in the Shire that attracted the attention of those marauders."

"Yes," conceded Legolas.

"No," said Mithrandir cheerfully.

"No?"

"No, I won't tell you anything."

"Mithrandir," Legolas began again.

"No," said the wizard calmly.

"But—"

"You were about to ask me _why_ I won't tell you anything."

Elrond laughed and raised his glass in a salute to the Istar.

"Give over the attempt, Legolas. He is not going to answer any of your questions."

"Not tonight, anyway," said Gandalf. "But if it is any consolation, Legolas, although I tell you nothing, neither have I confided in Elrond or Galadriel. Indeed, I have not even gone to Saruman, the head of my order, for counsel in this matter."

Legolas thought that the latter was a wise choice on the part of the wizard, but of course he kept his opinion to himself.

"If I knew for certain," Gandalf murmured, more to himself than to his two friends, "but as I do not, it is too soon to speak." He roused himself. "Well, Elrond, aren't you going to offer me a glass of that wine? As a host, you are somewhat lacking tonight."

"Why, Mithrandir," retorted Elrond, "as you saw fit to show yourself into my chamber, I thought you likewise might prefer to have the honor of serving yourself your own glass of wine."

"Well said," chuckled Gandalf.

"I am going to miss that laugh," Legolas thought to himself. "It is true that Mithrandir will visit Mirkwood, but I will not see him as often as I would if I were to remain in Rivendell." He sighed.

"Ah," said Gandalf shrewdly. "Homesick already?"

"You must admit, Mithrandir," Elrond pointed out, "that Legolas is bound to suffer more from homesickness than most Elves. Whilst he is in Mirkwood, he cannot help but long for Rivendell; in Rivendell, he cannot help but miss Mirkwood."

"Someday, Legolas, all those whom you love shall be gathered together in the Undying Lands," said the wizard.

"But then I shall miss Arda itself," retorted Legolas, smiling a little, but wistfully.

"Moreover," said Elrond, "it is not at all certain that _all_ will journey to the Undying Lands. Perhaps some whom Legolas loves will remain behind. It is also possible," he added softly, "that some whom I love will likewise remain behind. Indeed, I am certain that that will be so."

For this Gandalf had no reply.

The next morning Elrond and Gandalf stood before the Hall to bid the company farewell. Only the wizard seemed unmoved by the parting.

"You would think this lot were setting out for Mordor," he chided Elrond as Thranduil and the others rode away. "Only Legolas will be going that way, and not for several more years."

"What!" gasped Elrond, appalled. "You cannot mean that!"

"In Galadriel's Mirror I have seen Legolas standing before the Gates of Mordor."

"But he will come away unharmed, will he not?"

"That I do not know," said Gandalf soberly.

"But yesterday you told him that all those whom he loves shall someday be gathered together in the Undying Lands. Those were your very words!"

"Yes," said Gandalf unhappily, "but I did not say that Legolas himself would be there with them."

"Then by all means we must prevent him from making such a journey!"

"Elrond, he is fated to make that journey, I think. If we tried to stop him, we should fail. And if we did not fail, doubtless things would turn out ill for many besides Legolas."

Silently, the two friends turned and together reentered the Hall.

Legolas, however, had no knowledge of this conversation and was in great spirits, as were all his friends. The company rode south, parallel to the Misty Mountains. They meant to stay in the valley lands to the west of the Mountains until it came time to cross the pass to Lothlórien. Thus they would journey through Eregion and into Dunland. Hyge and Malinka rode with them, for the two Dunlendings were returning to their home. Marta, however, was going to stay on in Rivendell for a time. Erestor had begun to teach her to read, and she had begged leave to remain in order to continue these lessons.

"Hyge," she had said to her brother, "if I learn to read well, then I can return to Dunland and teach the others. I could teach you! It's a grand thing to be able to read, for it is harder for folk to cheat you. You can't be tricked into making your mark on a paper that lays out ill terms that you will be forced to abide by."

"That is true," said Hyge. "Alright, then. You remain here and learn as much as you can. That Elf is a good teacher, is he not?"

"Oh, an excellent teacher. He is very patient and explains everything carefully."

Marta spoke truly. Erestor, who had been so irascible when he had had Legolas and the twins in his care, was quite gentle with Marta. He never scolded or rebuked her when she made an error, and of course she made many, for she lacked even the most rudimentary elements of an education. Observing Erestor's transformation, Elrond was both amused and alarmed.

"You are taking great pains over Marta's lessons, Erestor."

"Of course," replied the tutor. "You know that whatever I do, I pride myself on doing it well."

"Yes, although I must say that you seem to have adopted different teaching methods than those you employed with Elrohir, Elladan, and Legolas. Indeed, even when Estel was at his youngest, you treated him much more strictly than you do Marta."

"Ah, but Marta is a girl, you see."

"Meaning?"

"Elrond, surely you must know that one must be gentle with girls."

"Erestor, I remember you admonishing me to be strict with Arwen. Aye, and she was naught but a tiny little elleth when you advised me so."

"Arwen is elven; Marta is human. Humans are not immortal and must therefore be treated with the greatest of care."

"May I point out that Estel is human as well, and you were never so solicitous of _his_ welfare."

"Really, Elrond," Erestor replied impatiently, "one could have dropped a rock on Estel's head and he would have suffered no harm. Indeed, didn't Legolas do that one time?"

"Yes, although quite by accident, of course."

"And did Estel suffer an injury?"

"Actually, Erestor, he developed quite a lump on his head."

"A lump on his head!" scoffed the tutor. "But I'll warrant his brains were unaffected—or at least no more addled than they were to start with."

Elrond had to allow that Aragorn's mental faculties had been unaffected by the accidental 'rocking'. Fortunately, Aragorn had merely been hit by a ricochet. Elrond shook his head and sighed as he remembered the incident. Truly, it had been more Elrohir's fault than Legolas's. Legolas was younger than Elrohir but had the unfortunate habit of besting Elrohir at archery whenever they were paired on the training field. Actually, Legolas bested everyone he was paired with, but apparently this was no consolation to Elrohir. One day, irritated at having been once again 'shown up' by the younger Elf—for that is how Elrohir viewed matters—Elrohir had begun to taunt Legolas about his parentage, or lack thereof, to be more precise.

"Tell me, Anomen," he jeered, "did you lose your Adar and your Naneth, or did they lose you?"

Legolas said nothing, concentrating instead on locating the source of a birdsong.

Elrohir again tried to goad him.

"I imagine," he said, "that it is more likely that _they_ lost _you_. If you lost them, you'd go looking for them, but if they lost you, no doubt they would have taken advantage of the situation and hastened as far away as possible."

"You shouldn't speak so, Elrohir!" admonished Elladan.

"I'm not saying anything so very dreadful," retorted Elrohir. "Everyone knows that Anomen doesn't have a father or a mother. That's why he must subsist on the charity of our father."

Anomen had gone so pale that his lips had turned blue. It seemed to Elladan that he had stopped breathing.

"That's alright, Anomen," Elladan said hastily. "Elrohir and _I _don't have a Naneth, neither."

"Yes," interjected Elrohir, "but everyone knows why _we_ don't have one. No one knows anything about Anomen's mother. I wonder if he ever had one. For all we know, he came out from under a rock, like some lowly Dwarf."

With that, Legolas snatched up an actual rock and flung it at Elrohir, who fortunately was able to leap aside in spite of his amazement at the younger Elf's response. Anomen was always so quiet and restrained. Hitherto he had preferred to make himself scarce rather than confront his tormenter.

Aragorn was standing nearby—he was Estel then—and when Elrohir leaped aside, the rock had hit the tree behind him, bounced off, and struck Aragorn in the head. Fortunately, it was not a very large rock. Moreover, young Estel sported a very thick thatch of hair. And, again, it _was_ a ricochet. The youngster was knocked down, but he sprang up almost instantly, bellowing in anger rather than crying in pain. He had always been a stoic little fellow.

The moment the rock had hit Estel, Legolas had turned around and marched straight to Elrond's private chamber. Reaching it, he pounded on the door as if he were a scout hastening to report an Orc incursion. "Enter," called a concerned Elrond. The elf lord was surprised when a grim-faced Anomen marched into his chamber.

"I hit Estel in the head with a rock," announced Legolas. He offered neither explanation, excuse, nor apology. Instead, he abruptly turned about and marched away again, making for the ancient oak tree that provided him sanctuary whenever he was upset or frightened.

"Well," said Elrond to himself, "at least he did not take fright and run away. So he is willing to await the outcome of matters. An improvement, that."

Just at that moment, Elrond again heard pounding upon his door.

"Enter," he said warily.

Elladan burst in. As soon as he had been sure that Estel was alright, he had raced after Legolas.

"WasnthisfaultAdaElrohirwastormentinghimpastbearinghedidntmeantohitEstelhewastryingtohitElrohirandElrohirdeservedit!"

Elrond could feel his eyebrows creeping up toward his hairline.

"Let us take this one step at a time. First, is Estel alright?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now, Anomen threw a rock?"

"Yes, but not at Estel!"

"He threw it at Elrohir?"

"Yes! And Elrohir deserved it. 'Twould have served him right if Anomen had dropped a boulder upon his head!"

Elrond knew that his eyebrows had arrived at his hairline, and he hoped he would not lose them altogether.

"Whatever did Elrohir do to deserve being struck with a rock—let alone a boulder?"

Swiftly, Elladan recited the insults that Elrohir had flung at Legolas. Elrond was horrified. With an effort, he kept his face impassive.

"Given what Elrohir was flinging," he thought to himself, "he is lucky that Anomen didn't fling back something more dangerous than a rock!" Aloud he said, "Elrohir was very wrong to say those things. Anomen was wrong to throw the rock. There are other ways of settling such disputes."

"But," said Elladan hopefully, "don't you think Elrohir was more wrong than Anomen? Surely you don't mean to punish them both!"

"It is not necessary to compare their respective offenses, Elladan," Elrond replied patiently. "I shall assign Elrohir a task commensurate with his misdeed. I shall treat Anomen likewise. Do you not trust me to be fair and just?"

"Yes, Ada," said Elladan resignedly. "Do you want me to fetch them?"

"Bring Anomen to me, and then in a little while bring me Elrohir. Do you know where Anomen is?"

"In his oak tree, I should think."

"No doubt you are right. Be off with you, now—and Elladan."

"Yes, Ada?"

"Do not fear. I shall do nothing to frighten Anomen away."

Elladan heaved a very full sigh of relief. Given Anomen's past history of running away, Elladan had indeed feared that if Elrond treated his friend and foster-brother harshly, Anomen would 'take to the trees' for good.

A little while later, Elladan stood looking up into the oak tree.

"Anomen," he called, "Ada wants to see you."

No answer.

"Anomen, I know you are up there. It is true that I cannot hear the trees as clearly as you can, but I could catch snatches of their gossip as I came along. They all know you are in the oak tree."

Still no answer.

"Very well. If you won't come down to me, then I'll climb up to you."

Elladan sprang up to seize hold of a branch, but the oak tree, ever protective of Anomen, quickly pulled the limb aside. Missing his grasp, Elladan fell to the ground. "Ow!" he cried.

Anomen instantly showed himself.

"Are you alright, Elladan?" he called anxiously, peering down from a branch far above.

Elladan tried to stand up but fell down with another cry of pain.

"I think I may have twisted my ankle," he grimaced.

"I'm sorry," Anomen said contritely. "I'll be right down to help you."

Within seconds, Anomen was standing on the ground next to Elladan. He looked about until he found a stout stick.

"Here. You can lean on my shoulder and also put some of your weight upon this staff."

Thus supported by Anomen, Elladan hobbled toward the Hall. By the time they neared it, Elrohir had already come out of hiding and, shamefaced, crept to his father's chamber. He had tapped timidly upon the door and had received in reply a dispassionate "Enter." Now, as father and son were talking, Elrond's back was to the window, but Elrohir could see past him out into the garden. So it was that he spied Anomen carefully helping the injured Elladan limp toward home. Anomen's concern and gentleness were plain to see, as was Elladan's gratitude. Elrohir began to cry. Elrond was nonplussed. He had been speaking sternly but, he had thought, with gentleness.

"Yonder is my twin," sobbed Elrohir. "He is hurt, and Anomen is helping him."

Elrond turned about and spying the pair in the garden understood Elrohir's distress. It was not only at archery that Elrohir feared being bested. Elrond laid a hand on Elrohir's shoulder.

"Come. We can talk of this matter later. For now, let us go and help bring Elladan to his chamber."

Later that evening, Elrond at last apportioned out the tasks that each miscreant would have to perform.

"Elrohir," he said to that twin as the young Elf stood anxiously before him. "Elladan will have to stay off his injured foot for a fortnight. As you are the one who set in motion the chain of events that led to his being hurt, I deem that it is you who should wait upon him. You must stay by his side for the next two weeks. You will be responsible for entertaining him and keeping him comfortable. Can you do this?"

"Oh, yes, Ada!" exclaimed Elrohir, struggling to look downcast. Two uninterrupted weeks in which to renew his friendship with Elladan and prove to him that he was a caring brother! What luck!

"Now go to Elladan and send Anomen in to me."

"Yes, Ada," said Elrohir, hurrying to fulfill his father's behest before he might reconsider his 'punishment'.

"Anomen," he called as he entered Elladan's chamber, where Anomen waited. "Ada wants to see you now." In his happiness he was suddenly moved to make amends. "Anomen, I am sorry I spoke so to you—truly I am."

Anomen looked doubtfully at Elrohir, and the latter suddenly realized that he had something to prove to Anomen as well as Elladan.

"I will do it," he vowed to himself after Anomen had left the room.

This time Anomen's knock on Elrond's door was not bold, but the answering voice was a gentle one. Encouraged, Anomen lifted the latch and went in.

"No doubt," began Elrond, "you are as accurate in flinging rocks as you are in shooting arrows, so I suppose Elrohir might have been hurt rather badly if he hadn't leaped aside. Even though you were angry, you wouldn't truly have wanted that, would you?"

"No, my Lord" said Anomen softly.

"And you didn't want to hurt Estel, either, did you? And do call me Ada. I am not 'your Lord' but your foster-father."

"Yes, my—Ada. I mean, yes, you are my foster-father, but, no, I didn't want to hurt Estel."

"So hasty actions are not always wise ones, are they? And this is so even if the motivation for the actions may be just."

"You are right, Ada. Hasty actions are most assuredly not wise ones!"

"Good. We are agreed. To help you remember this lesson, you will have a task that cannot be done hastily. The Gardener has asked that someone be assigned to remove the rocks from the ground he has lately broken for the expansion of the garden. You shall collect those rocks and carefully arrange them into a wall around the new plot. I judge this task will take you at least a fortnight. Does that seem fair?"

"Yes, Ada," replied Anomen, relieved that the task was not more onerous. He liked being in the garden.

"By the time Anomen has finished building that wall," Elrond said to himself after the young Elf had departed the chamber, "he should be thoroughly cured of any impulse he may have to pick up any rocks in the future." Satisfied with his judgment, he poured himself a congratulatory glass of wine and settled down to look over some correspondence that he had cast aside in order to deal with the family crisis.

It is true that Anomen never again felt tempted to hit Elrohir in the head with a rock, but perhaps not for the reason that Elrond had at first assumed. For Anomen did not spend nearly as many hours on his task as Elrond had judged would be required. Whenever Elladan dozed, Elrohir slipped out into the garden and helped Anomen gather the rocks and arrange them into a sturdy, attractive wall. At first Anomen was leery of Elrohir's presence in the garden, but after a few days, the two were laughing and singing as they worked. Elrond caught frequent sight of them from his window, but he never let on. The joint building of the wall was, he felt, a fitting conclusion to the incident, and he knew that more than a wall was being constructed.

"Elrond!"

Erestor's impatient voice broke into Elrond's reverie.

"Elrond, you have not heard a word I have said these past several minutes."

"True, my friend," said Elrond apologetically. "I was remembering that time when Legolas hit Aragorn with the rock. You were saying?"

"I was saying that it is true that Estel was young and a human, but as young as he was, he had been subjected to some discipline in terms of studies. His mother had taught him his letters. Marta, however, has never had a lesson in her life, and it is for that reason that I am not as strict with her. She is not only a child, but one who has never had to accommodate herself to the classroom."

"A child, you say. Is that why you bow to her, kiss her hand, and call her 'My Lady'?"

"I am merely being polite."

"Odd that you have never felt the need to demonstrate such politeness to Malinka."

"To Malinka!" spluttered Erestor. "Don't be ridiculous. Malinka is only a child."

"Exactly," said Elrond coolly. "She is a child, and you treat her as a child, that is to say, you treat her differently from Marta. This fact suggests to me that you perceive one but not the other as a child. Can you give me any reason to believe otherwise?"

This speech of Elrond's forced Erestor to see his behavior in a new light. The tutor was intellectually honest to a fault and could not entirely ignore an argument that so demonstrably had the force of logic behind it.

"Very well, then. Marta is a young lady, and a delightful one. Although she has hitherto received no formal education, she is clever and perceptive. I enjoy her company."

"You enjoy my company as well," observed Elrond dryly, "but I rather suspect that you feel a little differently toward me than toward Marta."

"I'm sure that I do," said Erestor. "I feel protective toward her, and I am hardly inclined to feel that way toward you! Moreover, Marta is pleasant to look upon, and, although you are handsome enough, I have always found myself inclined toward the female ideal of beauty."

"Ah hah," said Elrond, "now we come to it! Erestor, I very much fear that you may become attached to Marta in the wrong sort of way. I know that over the centuries you have grown fond of all your pupils, but never in a romantic sense. Have a care that you do not do so in this case."

"And why should I not?" asked Erestor defiantly. "My affections are mine to bestow where I will."

"Erestor, there is too much of a gap between the two of you. You are thousands of years old; she young enough so that you were briefly able to fool yourself into thinking that your gallant words and gestures had no import. Yet she will be an agéd woman in a span of time that would be as nothing to an Elf. For you are immortal; she is human. Like the sun, you will shine for thousands of years; she is destined to pass like a meteor through the sky, her life brilliant, perhaps, but brief."

"You surprise me, Elrond. You yourself are Peredhil, half-elven. Do you mean to suggest that your ancestors made an ill choice?"

"Say merely," said Elrond steadily, "that my ancestry has made me keenly aware of the pain attendant to love between the mortal and the immortal—pain for both the lovers and their family and kin."

So earnest was Elrond's manner that Erestor could not but listen.

"I will keep what you say in mind, Elrond," he assured his friend. "But," he added, "I must warn you that I may concede the truth of what you say and yet act contrary to your advice. In a matter such as this, I may not be altogether subject to the dictates of logic."

"I am content," replied Elrond. "All I ask of you is that you be aware of what you are doing and mindful of the possible repercussions."

"On that we are agreed," said Erestor.

"Excellent!" laughed Elrond. "For I should very much hate having to hit you in the head with a rock, my friend."

Erestor stared at him, befuddled for a moment, and then caught his drift and began to laugh as well. Arm in arm, and joined by a congeniality of spirit, the two Elves strolled off to the garden to enjoy the last hour of sunset in a plot surrounded by a wall that had been built years ago by two other friends who had had their disagreements but who in the end had remained steadfast one to the other.


	51. Getting To Know You

**Shameless Plug: Voting for My Precious Awards (MPAs) is underway at the elvenlords site. I'd put in the web address, but this program keeps stripping it out. Just google it. Typing My Precious Awards in quotation marks works. Anyway, "Got Milk?" is nominated under Best Humour Story, and "Dol Guldur" is nominated under Best Scary Story. I wouldn't object if anyone meandered over to that site and, um, voted.**

**_Mo: _As several of my reviewers could tell you, I find it almost impossible to resist the story ideas that they send my way. (Right, _Joee_?) I can't predict when I'll create a scene in which Legolas teases Gandalf about Edwen Nana and Gandalf responds by reminding him that he's changed his nappies; however, I _will_ get around to it eventually. That I can promise you!**

**_Farflung_****: Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I can't even begin to respond to your many observations. You read and reviewed ten chapters in twenty-four hours! Hey, somebody, maybe there should be Reviewer categories for the MPAs. Authors could nominate reviewers in categories such as Most Humorous Reviewer, Most Prolific Reviewer, Most Thoughtful Reviewer, Most Erudite Reviewer, and so on and so forth. Speaking of the MPAs, I had no idea that "Dol Guldur" had also been nominated until a few days ago when I was idly scrolling through the site. As for why "Got Milk?" is not doing very well in the Humor category: I wonder if its length has anything to do with that. The humor is not compressed and intense but rather unfolds at a leisurely pace over a series of chapters.**

**_Rinny_****_ Leonhart: _It is formed from the Greek negative affix plus the Latin word for 'name'. So it means 'No Name' or 'Nameless'. I devised it because in "The Nameless One", the original story in this series, Thranduil refuses to utter his son's name, so when Legolas (nicknamed 'Laiqua' at that time) runs away from Greenwood, in bitterness he dubs himself 'Anomen'.**

**_JC-Puzzler: _And to think that in high school I earned my lowest scores in math (followed closely by chemistry)! You might not want to wait until your story is completely finished before you start posting chapters. If you post your first chapter, you may get feedback that influences what you do with later chapters. I posted "The Nameless One" all in one chunk, and for a while nobody responded because, well, what was the point?—it was a finished story, which I think takes some of the fun out of it for the readers.**

**_Dragonfly: _Yes, on the Elrond Eyebrow Elevation Scale, 1 being lowest elevation, 10 being highest, I've say this was definitely a 10. Similarly, on the Elrond Homeland Security Advisory System, which ranges from Green (Low) to Red (Severe), this was definitely a Red.**

**_Legosgurl_****: Ah, so the flashback worked, you think? Thank you!**

**_Karri: _Yes, that was the original agreement. I think, though, that once Legolas arrived in Mirkwood, it wouldn't be surprising if the dynamic shifted. Yes, by the time Estel arrived on the scene, Elrohir and Legolas would have been getting along. That episode presupposes a lapse in Elrohir's more mature behavior.**

**_Terreis_****: You read _fifty_ chapters in _two_ days! You deserve an award! Yes, you are right about that allusion to POTC. It comes from the scene in which Will confronts Jack Sparrow in the smithy (Oops! _Captain_ Jack Sparrow).**

**_Fluffy's_****_ Fangirls: _Thank you! Hope you enjoy this update.**

**_Grumpy: _I don't think Elrond ever thinks in terms of 'punishment'. Instead, he seizes upon what educators call 'teachable moments'.**

**_Kelly Kragen: _Thank you for your comments about the dialogue. Maybe some day I will indeed try my hand at scriptwriting. About Aragorn singing to Arwen: yes, that is already in the works! I could never pass up a scenario like that!**

**_Joee_****: Legolas wouldn't gloat, but perhaps someday he will have a little bit of an 'I told you so' chat with Gandalf. You are right, I think, that the 'bully' incarnation makes for good story lines—conflict is inherently interesting, isn't it? Ah hah! Headed you off at the pass, didn't I, by including the rock back story. He he!**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_**

**Chapter 51: Getting To Know You; Getting to Know All About You!**__

The combined party of Imladris and Mirkwood Elves was four days out from Rivendell when they encountered the first sign of Orcs.

"The tracks are not very fresh, Elrohir," called Thoron, who had dismounted to examine them. "But they are traveling south, as we are. We may come up on them from behind, especially if they slow down or stop to camp."

"Let us pick up the pace," ordered Elrohir, "so that we may be certain of catching them."

"No," exclaimed Thranduil. "Why should we seek out a confrontation? Let us rather move more slowly so that there is little likelihood that we will encounter them."

"Ada," remonstrated Legolas, "if we do not confront them now, we will have to confront them later. It would be better to do so when we can take them unawares and when their numbers are few."

"I do not follow your logic," said Thranduil stubbornly. "It is not at all certain that we will ever again come across this band of Orcs."

"You mean," thought Elrohir to himself, "that it is unlikely that _your_ Elves will have to contend with this particular band." Aloud, however, he spoke dispassionately.

"Thranduil, these Orcs will not vanish into thin air. They will continue to haunt these foothills and threaten all who wish to take the passage through the Misty Mountains. Moreover, it is all too likely that they will at some point combine with another band and set about raiding. This has happened in the past. It is for these reasons that, when we come across Orc signs, we deal with the matter at once, on our terms, rather than later, on theirs."

"Perhaps that is your usual practice," argued Thranduil, "but this is not a war party. You are here at the behest of your father, who has commanded you to escort his guests to Lothlórien."

To be charitable to Thranduil, it was not his life that he was trying to protect but that of his son. Elrohir understood this, which is why the normally hot-tempered young Elf was able to speak with such an air of calmness.

Legolas tried his hand again.

"Ada, it is true that this may not be the most opportune moment for skirmishing with a band of Orcs. However, when Elrohir and the others ride back this way, they will be escorting Arwen, Elrond's daughter. Surely it would be better for all of us together to confront these Orcs at once rather than to risk the Orcs coming upon the Imladris Elves later, when they are fewer in number than we are now and when they are charged with the safety of one who is not a warrior. Ada," he added softly, so that only Thranduil heard, "you know that Elrond does not love his daughter any less than you love your son."

Thranduil had to give way. Much as he cherished Legolas, he knew that he had no right to put his son's safety above that of someone else's child. The Prince was right: Arwen and her escort might be riding into danger upon their return, danger that very possibly could be forestalled if Thranduil permitted his Elves and their Imladris escort to pursue and destroy these Orcs. He sighed.

"I would prefer to give these Orcs a wide berth," he said softly to his son. "However, what you say is just." Then he spoke aloud so that all might hear.

"You are right, my son. It behooves us to join with our Imladris kin in removing this peril from their path."

The Imladris Elves had been sitting tensely upon their horses, and now they relaxed visibly.

United now in a common goal, Imladris and Mirkwood Elves alike carefully scanned the ground as they rode forward as quickly as they could without overlooking any traces of their foes. At length Elrohir commanded the company to dismount and go forward on foot.

"We are very close," he said to Legolas and Elladan.

"Yes," agreed Legolas. "Let us divide our forces so that we come at our enemies from two sides. I will take my father's Elves to the west; you and Elladan take the Imladris Elves to the east."

Quickly they settled on which bird calls each would use to alert the others when they were in position, and then they separated to lead their respective Elves on paths that would put them on opposite sides of the Orc band.

Thranduil had no hand in planning the assault—the younger Elves were of course better acquainted with the terrain than he—but he insisted on staying by Legolas' side as the Mirkwood Elves moved forward cautiously. This was not to Legolas' liking.

"Ada," he argued, "the King of Greenwood and the heir to the throne should not fight side by side. What if we should both fall?"

Thranduil was unperturbed.

"Then we shall journey together to the Halls of Mandos, united in death as we should have been united in life."

"But the kingdom," began Legolas.

"Will be well ruled by Tawarmaenas, with the assistance of Gilglîr," said Thranduil calmly.

Legolas' actual fear was that Thranduil would fling himself into danger at the sign of any threat to his son, but no matter what Legolas said, Thranduil steadfastly refused to leave his side. At last Legolas abandoned any attempt at convincing the King to move to the rear of the column; instead, he tried to extract a promise from his father that he would not do anything foolish.

"If by 'foolish'," Thranduil said stubbornly, "you mean risking my life to safeguard that of my son, then, no, I will give you no such promise."

"Ada!"

"Legolas, for whose life should I risk my own if not my son's?"

"But it will not be necessary!"

"Are you Galadriel, that you can predict the future?"

At last Legolas was forced to give over the argument, and side by side father and son crept forward until from their hiding place behind a boulder they were able to spy the Orc camp. When all the Mirkwood Elves were likewise in position, Legolas gave the agreed-upon bird call. Within a few moments, he heard an answering call from Elladan and another from Elrohir. All about Legolas Elves were nocking and drawing their bows. Legolas gave the final call. The Orcs must have thought momentarily that a cloud had obscured the moon, for the air was suddenly thick with arrows. Not a single Orc was unscathed by that first volley. Some fell dead outright; others were pierced by many shafts. For all that they were wounded, most badly, the injured Orcs roared and charged at the source of the volley, some launching themselves toward the east, the others the west. Among the Orcs who charged toward the Mirkwood Elves was an exceptionally large one. None of the Elves had seen a more massive goblin, and brandishing his scimitar he raced straight toward Legolas. Quickly the Prince drew and fired an arrow at the rampaging Orc. It struck the creature in the shoulder, but he hardly flinched.

"Togo hon dad, Legolas!" shouted Thranduil in alarm. "Bring him down, Legolas!"

Legolas shot another missile at the oncoming Orc, but it troubled the goblin no more than the first arrow had. Thranduil was now well nigh frantic.

"Dago hon! Dago hon!" he screamed hoarsely. "Kill him! Kill him!"

The Orc was almost upon Legolas as he drew his third arrow. Suddenly the Prince saw movement out of the corner of his eye. "Don't," he began to cry, but his father had already leaped clear of the boulder. There was a sudden flash of silver in the moonlight, and the Orc's head was parted from his body. Amazed and aghast, Legolas stood frozen as the headless beast took three more steps toward him before it collapsed, still clutching its scimitar. Even after it fell to the ground, the corpse twitched for several more minutes. Legolas felt faint. All color drained from the world, and the sounds of the final moments of the skirmish faded into the distance.

When Legolas began to recover his senses, he found that his father stood next to him. One hand still held the sword with which he had decapitated the Orc; the other rested upon his son's shoulder.

"Are you alright, my son?" Thranduil said anxiously.

"Yes, Ada. Ada, I, um." Legolas' voice trailed off.

"Yes, my son?"

"Ada, thank you."

Thranduil squeezed his son's shoulder.

"Legolas, you have never seen that sort of Orc before. They are very hard to stop. Fortunately, there do not seem to be many of them. Apparently they are hard to breed."

Legolas let out his breath.

"Praise the Valar for that!"

Suddenly Legolas thought of something.

"So this is not the first time you have encountered such a creature?"

"No, Legolas, it is not."

"Mithrandir was right," said Legolas thoughtfully. "You must tell me more about _your_ adventures as a young Elf. I don't doubt but that I would learn much!"

"Ah," said Thranduil smiling. "Perhaps I have found a way to keep you from wandering away from the Great Hall. Each evening I shall commence a tale, but I shall leave it unfinished. You must remain until the following evening to hear the conclusion, which shall be so enthralling that you will remain yet another night to hear the next day's tale."

"And you have such a stock of tales that you will be able to continue this practice indefinitely?"

"I have lived many years. Offhand, without even trying, I can think of a thousand and one tales."

"Good for three years of nightly entertainment, anyway," smiled Legolas. "Then you shall have to come up with another device to keep me within reach."

"I think if I were given enough time to do so, I would be able to contrive something. Or mayhap Edwen Nana shall succeed in introducing you to an elleth who may prove even more persuasive than I could be. I would not mind if you took a page from Mithrandir's book."

"Ada!"

"Do you think," said Thranduil, laughing, "that I am unaware of the, ah, great friendship that has developed between that wizard and your former nurse-maid? I assure you, I am not ignorant of their arrangement!"

Legolas had gone so red that, had he been shorter and stouter, he might have been mistaken for an inebriated dwarf.

While Thranduil and Legolas had been talking, their companions had been checking to make certain that each of their foes was well and truly dead. Then Elrohir and Elladan had given orders for wood to be gathered for the burning of the Orc carcasses. Now, everything having been seen to, the twins strode toward Legolas and his father.

"Legolas," called Elrohir as they approached, "are you well? You look flushed."

Thranduil smiled and winked at Legolas before moving off so that the Prince could talk with his friends.

"I am not hurt," Legolas assured Elladan and Elrohir. "I faced a foe that very nearly overmastered me, but my Adar came to my aid. He has just now been following up his assistance with some words of fatherly advice."

Elladan and Elrohir stared down at the corpse that lay at Legolas' feet. It was huge even in the absence of its head.

"I'm glad there was not another one of these in the Orc band!" exclaimed Elladan.

"My father told me," said Legolas, "that there do not seem to be many of them because apparently they are hard to breed."

"Praise the Valar for that!" declared Elrohir.

Legolas grinned.

"That is exactly what I said!"

He clapped his friend upon the shoulder.

"I think I have recovered from the fright this fellow gave me. What now would you have me do?"

"Excellent timing, as usual," teased Elrohir. "Elladan and I have already seen to everything. There is naught for you to do but stand about looking princely. Do you think you can manage?"

"Of course," said Legolas, assuming a haughty demeanor. "Have I not always been princely?"

"Aye," laughed Elladan. "We used to think that you were putting on airs, I hope you know."

"Oh, yes, I knew. Your brother here always made sure of that!"

Elrohir winced.

"Legolas, sometimes I am amazed that I did not provoke you into departing for the Undying Lands. However did you stand me?"

"With great difficulty, sometimes," said Legolas dryly. "Do you recall the time I tried to hit you with a rock?"

They were interrupted by Thoron, who told them that the other Elves were ready to set fire to the pile of Orc bodies. Elladan and Elrohir went to check the direction of the wind before giving the final go-ahead. Sure that the fire would not set any nearby brush alight, they nodded at Thoron, who touched the torch to the wood. Patiently the Elves waited until the pyre burned itself out, and then they mounted and resumed their journey to Lothlórien.

The company encountered no other foes during the remainder of their journey, and several days later they entered the fringes of the forest of Lórien. Legolas heard a bow being drawn and reined his horse to a halt.

"I know you are there, Haldir! You breathe so loudly I could hit you in the dark!"

Rúmil and Orophin shouted with laughter and stepped out from behind a tree, followed by a sheepish Haldir, who now held his bow loosely in his hands.

"Mae govannen, Legolas," called the Lórien brothers. "Mae govannen, Elladan and Elrohir. And King Thranduil," they said, bowing deeply, "we are honored to have you and your warriors amongst us once again."

Thranduil laughed.

"You scamps! Do you think you can fool me into thinking you sober-minded Elves? Give over the thought! Go! Take Legolas and the sons of Elrond to Haldir's talan and commence your celebration. But mark me: you _will_ return my son to me when it is time for him to depart Lothlórien and return to Greenwood. Else you shall precipitate such a diplomatic crisis as has not been seen since the Dwarf Thorin tried to keep all of Smaug's treasure for himself!"

Orophin and Haldir looked abashed, but Rúmil, always the bold one, opened his eyes wide and looked at the King with an expression of the greatest innocence.

"Why, King Thranduil, whenever have we behaved in an unseemly fashion?"

"Frequently," retorted Thranduil. "If a star shone for every one of your escapades, it would be as bright during the nighttime as it is during the day!"

The Lórien brothers blushed as the assembled Elves laughed heartily. The Greenwood and Imladris Elves dismounted and entrusted their horses to Lothlórien Elves, who promptly vanished. Haldir and his brothers led Thranduil, Legolas, Elladan, and Elrohir on to Caras Galadhon, while other Lórien Elves led the remaining elven guests to fair lodgings elsewhere in the Golden Valley.

"Oh," groaned Thranduil as they began to mount the steps that led to the talan of the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel. "Why must they perch in the sky, so that it is necessary to climb up and down, up and down, whenever one wishes to speak with them?"

"Ada," Legolas pointed out, "it is not so different from the obstacle presented to those who wish to visit your underground dwelling. In the case of Celeborn and Galadriel's abode, it is necessary to climb up and down; in the case of your dwelling, it is necessary to climb down and up, and for an equivalent distance."

"I had not thought of it that way," said Thranduil, surprised. "I suppose you are right, looking at it from that point of view."

"Wisdom is often arrived at," intoned Haldir sententiously, "when one approaches a problem from a different angle, metaphorically speaking."

His brothers rolled their eyes and groaned.

"If ever Erestor wants an apprentice, _do_ keep Haldir in mind," declared Rúmil, winking at Elrohir and Elladan.

"I don't think Erestor would want Haldir as an apprentice," said Elrohir. "He would be afraid that my father would discharge him in favor of Haldir!"

"I shall take that as a compliment," said Haldir loftily. "It is my nature to be serious and to arrive at insights that do not occur to my brothers, lost as they are in levity."

"Oooooh, I have been cut to the quick," cried Rúmil, clutching at his heart.

"Rúmil," called a melodious voice, "someday an Orc will cut you to the quick if you do not learn to hold your tongue. Now be off with you, you and your brothers both. I believe our guests are perfectly capable of ascending this talan on their own."

Thoroughly quelled, Rúmil and his brothers fled, bounding down the stairs three or four steps at time, but with the grace of leaping deer, and as quietly. Their guests gazed up and saw Galadriel's luminous face smiling down at them.

"I hope you are able to make the last few steps, Thranduil. If you can, you will find that a fine repast has been laid out for you and your companions."

"I feel myself reviving, Lady," declared Thranduil jovially.

"A miracle," said another voice. Celeborn joined Galadriel in smiling down at the guests from the edge of the flet.

Thranduil did not bound up the stairs as vigorously as Rúmil and his brothers had bounded down, but he did cover the last few steps with an impressive agility that Legolas had never before seen him display. Once again, the Prince found himself longing to know his father better.

Once arrived on the Lord and Lady's talan, the visitors found that Galadriel had spoken truly. A feast awaited them.

"Why, Galadriel," teased Thranduil, "for once your words have not been equivocal. You promised us a fine repast, and here I see a veritable banquet laid out before us. I am not used to such plain speech on your part!"

"My pardon, Thranduil," said Galadriel, adopting the King's bantering tone. "I trust that my unaccustomed candor has not distressed you excessively."

"No indeed, my Lady. Is it too much to hope that it will last the evening?"

"Yes," said Galadriel, smiling.

"No doubt that will be her last straightforward pronouncement," cautioned Celeborn, also smiling.

"But it was _not_ a straightforward pronouncement," rejoined Thranduil gaily. "Does Galadriel mean 'Yes, it is too much to hope' or 'Yes, it will last the evening'?"

"The fault lies in the Questioner," averred Galadriel. "You asked an equivocal question; I gave an equivocal answer!"

Legolas listened to this exchange with the greatest of fascination. He had never known that Thranduil excelled at such light-hearted bantering. This was yet another side of his father that he resolved to learn more of.

After supping, Legolas, Elrohir, and Elladan excused themselves and went in search of Haldir and his brothers. They were easy to find, for they had retreated no further than the base of the Lord and Lady's mallorn tree, where they had been patiently cooling their heels for hours.

"What a leisurely life is vouchsafed to our Lórien kinsman!" exclaimed Elladan. "Are there no Orcs left in Arda, that you should loiter thus?"

"No Orc would venture within miles of the Golden Valley, such is our reputation!" Rúmil boasted.

"If that is the case," teased Elrohir, "it is only because they fear being bored to death. Has nothing stirring happened here since we last visited and brought excitement with us?"

The Lórien brothers grew serious.

"Orcs frequently test our borders," said Haldir soberly. "Thus far we have fended them off without loss, but their numbers are increasing. It is good that you have come now to fetch your sister, for I fear that had you waited any longer you would have had difficulty in conveying her safely to Imladris."

Orophin spoke then.

"Arwen should have returned to her talan by now—she has been visiting friends who dwell a little to the north of Caras Galadhon. Would you like us to take you to her?"

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed the twins simultaneously.

Eagerly the Imladris Elves fell into step with the Lórien brothers. Soon they came to a mallorn tree from which silken pennants fluttered. Orophin laughed.

"Arwen is forever draping cloth here and there. Sometimes she seems to float upon silk."

Haldir sighed wistfully and then blushed as the others looked at him. The Elves began to mount the spiraling stairs that led to Arwen's flet. They had ascended halfway to the platform when suddenly they were drenched with cold water. As they stood spluttering and shivering, they heard laughter and looked up to see Arwen smiling down upon them.

"I have paid you back now, Elrohir," she called.

"But, Arwen," he protested, "that was twenty years ago!"

"What is twenty years to an Elf?" said Arwen nonchalantly. "It is as yesterday."

"Now we are all soaked," complained Elladan. "What are we to do!?"

"I will wrap you all in silk," declared Arwen cheerfully.

"Oh, that's all right, then!" exclaimed Haldir hastily, and he quickly blushed anew as his companions once again stared at him.

When they arrived upon Arwen's flet, she did not wrap them in silk, but she gave each one a blanket and served them mulled wine. Soon they had no cause to complain, although perhaps the occupants of nearby talans did, for the young Elves were soon singing both merrily and loudly and continued to do so until it was nearly dawn. Had Galadriel not had the foresight to order that the rest of the wine be guarded that night, no doubt our young Elves would have disregarded dawn altogether. It was, of course, not necessary for her to look into her mirror to realize the necessity of taking such a step!

For all the merriment that the twins indulged in, they did not forget Haldir's words about the gathering of Orcs on the borders of Lothlórien.

"Legolas," Elrohir said regretfully when they arose late the next morning, "I am afraid that Elladan, Arwen, and I shall have to bid you farewell sooner than we had planned."

Legolas was disappointed but not surprised.

"I knew as soon as Haldir spoke that you would make for Imladris with all speed. I imagine that Celeborn and Galadriel have spoken of this matter to Thranduil by now and that my father will soon tell me that we also will not linger in Lothlórien."

Legolas was right. The Greenwood and Imladris Elves were to remain only one additional night in Lothlórien before departing regretfully for their respective homelands.

Legolas sighed and looked back over his shoulder as he rode away from Lórien by the side of his father. Thranduil tried to comfort him.

"Legolas, you will not be parted from your friends forever. And do you not look forward to your imminent reunion with Tawarmaenas and Edwen Nana?"

"Of course I do, Ada. I merely fear that it may be long before I once again see the friends of my youth."

"The friends of your youth!" teased Thranduil. "Are you suddenly so old? You speak like a venerable elf lord. This must be Erestor's influence!"

Legolas had to laugh. He had never dreamed that his father could be so antic in his speech and behavior.

"Yes," the young Elf mused, "I will miss my friends in Imladris and Lothlórien, but I am glad to have this opportunity to become better acquainted with my father."

Thus comforted, Legolas rode on into the east.


	52. Bathtime

**I just realized that several folks have gone back and reviewed some of my earlier stories. Thank you! I don't always immediately realize when someone has reviewed one of the stories I'm not currently working on because my e-mail notification does not seem to be working. So I'd like to thank the following folks for those reviews of older stories: _Eryn__ Lasgalen, Kelly Kragen, Mo, Terreis _(many!), and _Vicki Turner._ I hope I didn't leave out anyone, and my apologies in advance if I did! I truly appreciate these reviews.**

**_Uinen Waterlily: _I see that you have just posted a review of Chapter 1. Mae govannen! I hope that you stay with the story long enough to arrive at this chapter and see this greeting.  
**

**_Mo: _Yes, I think Edwen Nana is one of my most popular creations. I'm glad, though, that you also like my versions of Legolas, Gandalf, and Glorfindel.**

**_Grumpy: _At long last Thranduil is acting out of empathy for others rather than out of self-pity.**

**_The Essence of popsicles: _I am leaning a little bit toward _not_ having him jealous. Haldir will be wistful, yes, but not jealous.**

**_Farflung_****: Yes, the Helms Deep episode, when Legolas tried but failed to kill the Uruk-hai with the torch, provided the model for the similar scene in the previous chapter. About Legolas learning more about his Adar: I wrote a scene (I can't remember which chapter or even which story!) in which Thranduil shared with Tawarmaenas his memories of Tawarmaenas' mother, Thranduil's sister. I need to create such a scene between Legolas and Thranduil in which the King reminisces about Legolas' mother.**

**_Dragonfly: _I can't see Legolas staying put, either. Actually, I won't _let_ him stay put—it would shut down the story, and I can't allow _that_!**

**_Kelly Kragen: _Yes, I borrowed the Uruk-hai scene from TTT, complete with Aragorn's lines. The tale cycle I had Thranduil allude to is sometimes called _The Arabian Nights,_ sometimes _The 1001 Nights_, and sometimes _The 1001 Arabian Nights_. It's all the same collection.**

**_Joee_****: I have begun work on a story in which Legolas will tell the Hobbits about Gandalf's amatory conquests, and Gandalf will retaliate with his own tales of Legolas' elfling years.**

**_Legosgurl_****: I included a reference to Haldir using the line in _Dol Guldur_ (at least I think it was Dol Guldur—I'm going to have to start indexing my own stories). So the line is kind of getting batted back and forth as a joke amongst these friends.**

**_Masha_****: I have begun working on the 'nappy' story (see note to _Joee_). I would like to do a story set after Moria in which Legolas mourns for Gandalf, and I have begun to imagine bits and pieces of a story set years before that time in which Gandalf will mourn for an Anomen whom he believes lost, only to have Anomen reappear. And, no, you don't have to give way to depression. Of course I'll bring the friends together again, and under exciting circumstances, too.**

**Chapter 52: Bathtime**

Within two days of their departure from Lothlórien, the Imladris Elves realized that they were being followed by a large company of Orcs.

"It is probable," said Elrohir, "that our leave-taking from Lothlórien was observed by one of the Orc scouts Haldir referred to."

"Yes," agreed Elladan. "Indeed, it is possible that our arrival was observed as well and that Orcs began gathering at once against the time when we should depart. Judging from the reports of our scouts, this band of Orcs is certainly a large one."

"Aye, larger than the band we confronted on our way to Lórien."

As usual, the Elves were desirous of fighting the Orcs on their own terms, and they began to lay their plans.

"We should attack during full daylight, of course," said Elladan, "for our foes barely tolerate the sunlight."

"Agreed. In the waning hours of the night, we should double back and so take them unawares at the most opportune moment."

"When we begin to double back, we must take out their scouts," observed Elladan, "so that no warning will be carried to their commander."

"Yes. Each of their scouts must be shadowed by one of ours so that we will be in position to do away with our foes when the signal is given."

"What of Arwen?" asked Elladan.

"When our forces double back, she must remain behind with as many guards as can be spared."

When they told Arwen of this plan, however, she would have none it.

"You should _not_ divide your forces," she declared vehemently. "The number of warriors that you would leave behind is not large enough to withstand a determined assault by Orcs, yet it is large enough to weaken the force that you would lead into battle. No one will benefit."

"But, Arwen," exclaimed Elrohir, "we are going into battle."

Arwen stared at him levelly.

"Elrohir, it is not necessary to state the obvious."

Elrohir colored and studied his feet.

Elladan tried again.

"Arwen, you have not trained as a warrior."

"I am not altogether helpless, Elladan. Moreover, I am not proposing that I take a place on the front line. I will stay in the midst of your forces—as I would if you left me behind with a guard. I will be no more exposed that I would be otherwise."

Elladan and Elrohir continued to argue with Arwen for a time, but at length it became obvious that there was no persuading her to remain behind. Unless they wished to tie her hand and foot—not an option!—she was going to accompany them into battle.

As dawn neared, the Elves broke camp, laded the horses, and resumed riding in the direction of Imladris. A short time later, however, Thoron signaled to his scouts with a birdcall, and all their Orc counterparts were slain simultaneously, none having an opportunity to shout an alarm to his fellows. The Elves in the main party dismounted, and their horses, having already been instructed, continued trotting toward Rivendell, thus making it all the less likely that the Orcs would realize that the company had in fact interrupted its progress. Then the Elves commenced their stealthy approach toward the Orc band, which was beginning to lag in energy and enthusiasm as the sun arose above the horizon."

"Ain't we gonna stop?" whined one of the Orcs.

"Chief says we gotta press on a little in daylight so's the pointy-ears don't draw too far ahead," replied one of his fellows.

"Be noon soon," whined the first Orc.

"Idjit!" scoffed the second goblin. "Sun jist now rose. Noon's several hours off. Anyways, the Chief in't gonna make us march under the noonday sun. I hear tell that any goblin wot is out at noon is turned into a rock—kinder like a Troll wot is caught outside 'is cave at sunrise."

This was, of course, nothing but arrant folklore. While Trolls—until Sauron tampered with them, that is—were indeed petrified if they were unlucky or foolish enough to be out at sunrise, Orcs labored under no such disability. It is true that they were most comfortable in dark and noisome places, but they could labor or march in the sunlight if driven to it by the threats of their masters.

Still, these Orcs believed the tale, and the longer they marched under the morning sun, the more agitated and unhappy they grew. Soon their grumbling was audible to the Chief, who began to curse and lay about with his whip. The Orc column was thrown into confusion.

It was at that moment that the Elves struck.

Several minutes passed before the Orcs even realized they were under attack. As Orcs fell to the silent elven fusillade, their fellows at first assumed that they had been knocked down in the ongoing scuffle. At last one of the Orcs, struck in the leg by an arrow, stared stupidly at it for a bit but at last bellowed, "'N'arrow! I bin hit by 'n'arrow!"

At once the Orcs broke off brawling and reached for their weapons. It was indeed a large band of Orcs, and, even though the Elves had killed and injured several in those first volleys, there were plenty of Orcs left to go around. The Elves braced for a fierce battle. Their foes were undisciplined, but their numbers and their very heedlessness made them dangerous. They stormed toward the hidden Elves, some swinging scimitars, some firing their bows as they ran. They were of course not aiming carefully, but so many missiles did they shoot, that it was inevitable that some should find a mark.

Thoron was one who was unlucky enough to be hit by an Orc arrow. Struck in the shoulder, he fumbled with his bow and dropped it. In a trice, Arwen had sprung forward from her relatively safe position and retrieved the weapon. It was obvious that Thoron would not be able to draw the bow, and Arwen began to fire in his place. One after another she nocked the arrows that Thoron drew from his quiver with his good arm. She wasted none of these shafts, for each found its target.

Outnumbered though they were at the outset, in the end the superior discipline and skills of the Elves more than counterbalanced the superior numbers of their foes. The Elves fought until they reached parity with their foes, and from that point onward, their enemies were doomed. At last the remaining goblins broke and ran, pursued by Elves who were determined not to leave one Orc living.

After Elrohir was sure that the field was secure, he allowed himself a moment to gaze upon his sister with renewed respect. He had never dreamed that she would be such an excellent archer. Nor had he understood how steady she would be under fire. He did not long indulge himself in such thoughts, however, for there was much to be done. Of greatest importance, the wounded Elves needed to be seen to. In addition, the Orc bodies would have to be disposed off.

Several Elves had been hurt, but Thoron's wound, although not life-threatening, seemed to be the most serious. Arwen herself took it upon herself to tend to his injury. She carefully cut away his tunic and gently drew forth the arrow, inflicting remarkably little additional damage as she did so. The elleth then set about thoroughly rinsing out the wound. Finally, after applying a healing poultice, she bound Thoron's shoulder gently but securely.

Several of the other Elves stood about watching as Arwen ministered to Thoron. It must be said that these Elves looked as if they wished that they, too, had been struck by arrows. Elrohir had to speak to them several times before they at last snapped out of their reveries and went to collect wood for the burning of the Orc carcasses.

As soon as they could, the Elves retrieved their horses and rode away from the battlefield. They traveled many miles before they stopped for a repast at mid-afternoon, for Elves do not like to linger near scenes of death. During this halt in their journey, Elrohir seized the opportunity to express his awe at Arwen's talent with the bow.

"Arwen, I never knew you to be an archer!"

"When I left Rivendell, I was not. Haldir has been giving me lessons."

"Haldir?"

"Haldir is an excellent archer, Elrohir."

"Have you been spending much time with Haldir?" asked Elrohir, suddenly jealous on behalf of his sister.

Arwen smiled provokingly at her brother.

"And what if I have, Elrohir?"

"But, but, but, well, _Haldir_, of all Elves!"

"Whatever do you have against Haldir?"

"Well, for one thing, he is so _serious_."

"Not always," teased Arwen.

"Arwen!"

"Oh, and _you_ have not been spending time with anyone, I suppose?"

"That's different!" spluttered Elrohir.

"You talk just like a Man," Arwen chided. "They freely bestow their attentions wherever they will, but let their sisters behave in the same fashion, and the Men rebuke them. Why may I not while away the hours with Haldir in the same manner in which you while away your time with your many ellith?"

"Oh, surely _not_ the same manner!" exclaimed Elrohir, thoroughly alarmed.

Arwen laughed.

"No, I suppose I have not whiled away my time in _exactly_ the same manner as you have."

"The Valar be praised," Elrohir breathed in relief.

"But if I _had_," Arwen continued, "_you_ are the last person who would have the right to chide me!"

Shamefaced, Elrohir had to concede this point. Arwen laughed gently at his confusion and kissed him upon the forehead.

"Come, brother. Our companions are ready to ride on. Let us rejoin them."

Later that day, when the Elves had camped for the night, Elrohir sought out Elladan for a serious discussion about their sister.

"Elladan, have you noticed how much Arwen has changed in these past several years?"

"Oh, yes. She is no longer such a hellion—notwithstanding that water she dumped upon us the other night!"

"Perhaps not a hellion, but she _is_ an excellent archer."

"Yes," agreed Elladan, "and she is a superb rider, as well—but then she always was."

"Yet it is not," Elrohir mused, "her archery or riding skills of which I speak. Have you noticed any other changes?"

"I hadn't," said Elladan, "until I realized that Haldir _had_."

"My point exactly," Elrohir said earnestly. "Do you suppose anyone else has noticed?"

"Elrohir, you troll-brain," retorted Elladan, "didn't you see the expressions on the faces of the Elves who were watching as she bandaged Thoron? Of course other folk have noticed!"

"She seems to like Haldir," Elrohir said thoughtfully.

"Haldir is a fine Elf. Our Ada would be pleased if she allied herself with someone of his character."

"But she is the daughter of an elf lord," protested Elrohir. "Don't you think she should marry someone of equivalent station?"

Elladan stared amazed at his brother.

"Elrohir, I have never known you to care overmuch about our family's position. And even if Haldir is no elf lord now, he may be one someday, for one can achieve that status regardless of birth through courage and wisdom. Haldir has plenty of the first, and for all his sententiousness, he will doubtless develop the latter."

"I suppose it's not so much that Haldir is not an elf lord; it's that, well, I had hoped, well, I, that is to say." Elrohir paused but then continued in a rush. "Haven't you ever thought that it would be fitting if Legolas were formally allied with our family? He is so much a part of the family as it is."

"Which," replied Elladan, "is exactly why he will never marry Arwen, if that's what you are trying to suggest."

"Why ever not!?"

"Elrohir, what is Legolas to you?"

"He is like a brother, Elladan."

"Exactly. And he is also like a brother to Arwen, and she a sister to him."

"Meaning?"

"In case you hadn't noticed," Elladan said dryly, "it is not the custom for brothers and sisters to marry."

"But," argued Elrohir, "although they are siblings in sentiment, they are not blood kin."

"Elrohir, in this case, I assure you that it is the sentiment that matters. Before we left Lórien, I sounded out Legolas on the subject of Arwen."

"What did he say?" asked Elrohir anxiously.

"It wasn't so much what he said as the expression on his face!"

Elladan launched into an account of his conversation with Legolas. It had taken place as the two had been returning from an unsuccessful foray on the glade where the wine stocks were kept. To their chagrin, they had discovered that this beverage was as well guarded as if Galadriel and Celeborn had been expecting a full-blown Orc assault upon the bottles. Commiserating one with the other, Elladan and Legolas had strolled back in the direction of Haldir's flet.

"Legolas," said Elladan, "have you noticed how grown-up Arwen looks?"

"Yes."

"Aren't you surprised?"

"Why should I be? As she _is_ grown-up, why shouldn't she _look_ grown up?"

"Oh. Yes. Of course."

Elladan tried another tack.

"The Elves hereabouts seem very fond of her."

"Certainly. As well they should be."

"Are _you_ fond of her, Legolas?"

"Elladan, perhaps it is good that we could not filch anymore wine. That question suggests that your brains are already sufficiently addled for one evening. _Of course_ I am fond of Arwen!"

Elladan's face lit up.

"I am sure she is fond of you as well, Legolas!"

"I should hope so! We always got along very well. I remember," he reminisced, "how tiny she was when we first met. Do you remember that on occasion I had the care of her in the evenings when Elrond was entertaining embassies from afar? She was such a dear little thing. 'Help me wit' my gown', she would beg when she got all tangled up in it as she tried to pull it off for her bath. And I would help her out of it and lift her into the tub. She would always insist on washing her hair by herself, and inevitably she would get soap in her eyes and start flailing her arms about and dancing in the tub. Just imagine trying to rinse off a whirlwind! In the end I would always be as wet as she! At last I would get her out of the tub and towel her off. Ai! It was not over yet! She would insist on putting on her own nightgown, and I would have to wait patiently until once again she would cry, 'Help me wit' my gown!' Then she would 'braid' her hair whilst she listened to a story. When she would at last fall asleep, I always had a dreadful number of knots to comb out with the greatest of care before I could properly do up her hair. How stubborn she was! But it was never out of contrariness. No, it was that she always had a great desire to be independent."

"So you enjoyed giving Arwen her bath."

"Oh, yes. I enjoyed all my time with Arwen."

"Would you enjoy giving her a bath today?"

Legolas looked at Elladan in bewilderment.

"Your brains truly _are_ addled. I told you that Arwen always had an independent spirit. Now she needs no assistance in the bath and would be highly indignant if I offered any!"

"Oh," said Elladan hastily. "I didn't mean that she would need any assistance. Perhaps you would simply like to bathe _with_ her."

"Elladan!"

"You don't think that would be fun?"

"Fun!? I should probably end up drowning myself, for I would submerge myself out of embarrassment! Grown Elves and ellith do not bathe together!"

"That is not altogether true," argued Elladan. "Many are the Elves and ellith who bathe together."

"Yes, but only if they are espoused one to the other. Oh!"

Legolas had finally caught Elladan's drift.

"Elladan, you, you don't mean to suggest, that, that—why, Arwen is like a sister to me! I could never—the very idea!"

"But you would make _such_ a lovely couple," insisted Elladan.

"Elladan! Brothers-and-sisters-do-not-marry!"

"Oh, well if you feel _that_ way," Elladan said quickly, backing down and stepping away from his incensed foster-brother. "I just thought, well, never mind."

"Yes, you had better never mind," said Legolas dangerously.

"Really, Legolas, I merely wished to forge ties between us that would be even closer than the ones that exist now."

"We are brothers, Elladan. I do not think we could be any closer than that. And Arwen is my sister. The bond between husband and wife is a close one, but no closer than that between sister and brother. The matrimonial bond is of a different sort, true, but not one superior to the bond we already have, an attachment that I cherish."

"I am sorry, Legolas," Elladan said humbly. "I did not mean to offend you."

By now Legolas had recovered himself, and he laid a hand on Elladan's shoulder.

"Do not be troubled, Elladan," he said kindly. "I understand why you spoke as you did, and I bear you no ill will. You spoke through a surfeit of love rather than out of a lack of sensitivity."

The two friends resumed their stroll toward Haldir's talan.

"I wonder," mused Elladan, "whom she will marry in the end, as it obviously will not be _you_!"

Legolas shrugged calmly.

"You may be sure that he will be someone of great worth. I think we can trust Arwen not to choose anyone of lesser dignity."

"True," agreed Elladan. "Arwen, for all she is young, is already very astute and knows herself as well or better than many an older Elf. She will choose wisely."

"Yes," said Legolas, "and whomever she chooses, he will have my blessing."

"Mine as well," nodded Elladan. "Anyone beloved of Arwen will be beloved of me!"

This conversation Elladan now repeated to Elrohir, who sighed in disappointment.

"So we must not expect Legolas to bind himself to Arwen?"

"Say rather," replied Elladan, "that Legolas is already bound to Arwen and has no desire to replace the one bond with another."

"I suppose," said Elrohir slowly, "that we should not take it amiss."

"No, indeed, Elrohir! For we will still have Legolas as our brother, and someday we will have another brother of equal worth! So in the end it is probably a good thing that Legolas and Arwen will not be espoused."

Elrohir brightened.

"Of course! Now you put it that way, I see that it is all for the best!"

"Yes, I agree: all for the best. And now let us give over talking about the matter. We shall simply have to wait patiently until Arwen reveals her mind on this matter."

Content that Arwen was safe that night both from Orcs and inappropriate suitors, the two brothers unrolled their blankets and stretched out under the stars.

"If only Aragorn were here," murmured Elladan as he drifted off to sleep. "He would have reveled in today's battle, and he would have been impressed at our sister's prowess as an archer."

"Mmmhuh," muttered Elrohir, "Arwen impress Aragorn. Pity they missed seeing each other. Well, later."

"Yes," yawned Elladan. "Later."

With that, they both slept.


	53. SpringSinger

**Folks, I just found out this morning that one of my stories won a prize in the voting for the MPAs. I'll give you more details after all the prizes are awarded on October 31 (Halloween—how not?). Anyway, for now I'd like to thank all of you for encouraging me, Dragonfly for betaing my stories, and Farflung for nominating two of them. Of course, a big thanks as well to all who voted for either or both of the stories! Hmm. I need to write an acceptance speech. Sounds as if I've already begun!**

**_Grumpy: _I will have to show Legolas and the twins reacting to the discovery that Arwen and Aragorn are in love. No doubt mixed feelings, but ultimately respectful.**

**_Farflung: _****I was actually thinking of Peter Jackson when I inserted that line because somewhere I did run across a complaint that the Trolls aren't supposed to be out and about in the sunshine, yet Jackson's Trolls obviously were. Yes, I am glad whenever I have an opportunity to give female character a larger scope for speech and action.**

**_Rinny_****_ Leonhart: _I think I can promise never to write a girlfriend for Legolas into the story—at least not in any serious way. I'm looking forward to describing the adventures of Legolas and Gimli after Aragorn's coronation, and a girlfriend for either of them would be a bit of an impediment.**

**_Mo: _At some point I will _definitely_ write a story in which Gandalf believes he has lost his little elfling. He'll be filled with grief and guilt, and then, like Tom Sawyer, Anomen will reappear! Wonder how long it will take for Gandalf to reassume his gruff persona. Oh, probably about a quarter of an hour.**

**_Terreis_****: As I mentioned to _Grumpy_, I promise to show the twins reacting at some point. Also Legolas, Elrond, Erestor, Glorfindel, and etc.**

**_Vicki Turner: _Ah, you liked the dialogue between Elladon and Legolas. Thank you!**

**_Joee: _****More Aragorn coming up!**

**Chapter 53: Spring-singer**

Elrond smiled as he looked across the Chamber of Fire at the Elves clustered eagerly around Arwen, who graciously acknowledged each and every one of them with a smile or a word.

"Like flies to honey," said a voice at his elbow.

"Not a very elegant way of putting it, Glorfindel."

"True, but accurate nonetheless. What are you going to do about this matter?"

"Do? Nothing."

"Nothing? The Lord of Imladris will do nothing as his daughter is besieged by wooers?"

"I believe," said Elrond calmly, "that Arwen is perfectly capable of looking out for herself. Did you not hear Elrohir and Elladan's account of how she acquitted herself during and after the Orc skirmish on the journey home?"

"Ah, so she is to fend off these young Elves with bow and arrow, is that what you are saying? Well, they have all been shot through the heart _anyway_, so I suppose it would be only fitting if she riddled them with additional shafts. They all of them already claim that she is subjecting them to the greatest of torments. You should have heard the nonsense one of them was spouting the other night under her window. Something along the lines of 'I find no peace, and all my war is done: / I fear, and hope; I burn, and freeze like ice; / I fly above the wind, yet can I not arise'. It ended with the extraordinary, not to mention paradoxical, statement that 'my delight is causer of this strife'."

"One would think," observed Elrond wryly, "that if love were as painful as all these poems would have it, no one would indulge themselves in it. Yet it is manifest that these lovers be not discouraged, neither from wooing nor from versifying."

At this moment, Arwen disentangled herself from the knot of admirers and crossed to her father.

"Ada," she said softly, "I am going to walk about outside for a bit. Do see that no one follows me. I have scarcely had a moment to myself since returning to Rivendell."

Elrond smiled and nodded, and Arwen slipped out the door. As the eager Elves made to pursue her, and before even Elrond could speak, Glorfindel stepped in front of them.

"Today the lot of you performed poorly on the training fields," he growled. "Is there some reason for that?"

Abashed, no one answered.

"It is not to happen again," declared Glorfindel. "And to make certain that it does not, you will follow me at once to the fields for a supplementary practice. I will keep you there until you demonstrate an acceptable level of proficiency. Aye, I will have you shoot by torchlight if it comes to it."

Glorfindel winked at Elrond and strode from the room. In his wake trailed the disappointed swains.

While this conversation had been taking place, Aragorn was cresting the mountain that rose above Rivendell. He paused and looked down into the valley whence stood his childhood home. His grey eyes gleamed as the sun shone upon him, and his hair flowed in the breeze. Were it not for the stubble upon his face, at that moment the tall and slender young Man might have been mistaken for an Elf. Certainly he moved with the grace of one as he began the descent into the valley.

"I will not go straight to the Hall," he murmured to himself. "Too long have I walked upon the rough rocks of the Northern Waste. I would feel beneath my feet the gentle power of the land of Imladris."

He directed his feet toward a particular spot, a stand of birch trees in which he had often lost himself in dreams. As he walked, he softly sang the _Lay of Lúthien_. It was a ballad both beautiful and melancholy, a tale of great love and great loss, for it told the story of the mortal Beren and the elleth Lúthien Tinúviel.

As Aragorn entered into the cool shade of the birches, he was singing that part of the tale that told of the meeting of Beren and Lúthien in the forest of Neldoreth. Suddenly it seemed to him that he had wandered into the song itself. For lo! There stood Lúthien, her garb flowing, her hair raven, a crystal pendant upon her breast. Forgetting himself, Aragorn cried out, "Tinúviel! Tinúviel."

The elleth turned toward him.

"Who are you? And why do you call me by that name?"

"For a moment I did indeed believe that you were she. My confusion must be pardoned, for surely she could have been no more beautiful than you!"

The elleth smiled.

"You are a most gallant youth," she said teasingly. "But what is your name?"

"Once I was Estel. But now I am known as Aragorn son of Arathorn. I am Isildur's Heir, Lord of the Dúnedain."

As he spoke, he began to feel a little silly. As yet he had done nothing to merit these grand titles. How childish he must seem to this elegant elleth, flaunting as he did borrowed honors.

But an expression of delight crossed her face.

"Estel! Little Estel! We are kinsfolk, you and I! Don't you recognize me?"

Suddenly he knew her.

"You couldn't be, you're not—Arwen!?"

She laughed at his bewilderment.

"The same. Surely you did not think that I had stopped growing even as you shot up to manhood."

"You have been gone for so long. I had forgot." He rallied himself and fell into the light-hearted banter that matched her own spirits. "Now I understand why Elrond kept you in Lothlórien for such a great length of time. Often is it seen that in dangerous days men hide their chief treasure!"

But though his tone was light, as he looked upon her he saw grace and goodness, beauty and bravery, and he loved her. For her part, as she looked upon him, she saw courage and compassion, vigor and wisdom, and she likewise loved him. From that moment, the Doom of Men was laid upon Arwen Undómiel, the Evenstar of her people.

But Man and elleth gave no thought to such grim matters as they walked together upon the greensward. They had many tales to share, one with the other, and laughed much as they strolled and gossiped. At last Arwen bethought herself of her father, who was surely wondering why she stayed so long, and she bade Aragorn a loving farewell.

"We must speak again, cousin, and soon."

"Willingly I will spend many another hour with you, my Lady Arwen!"

"So gallant!" teased Arwen once again before she turned toward the Hall, leaving in her wake a bedazzled Ranger.

Aragorn was not yet ready to enter the Hall and subject himself to the boisterous welcome he was certain to receive at the hands of Elladan and Elrohir. "I am sure that she is indeed more beautiful than Lúthien must have been," he murmured dreamily, drifting rather walking. "Ow!"

"What in the name of the Valar do you think you are doing!?" harrumphed Erestor angrily, rubbing at his face. "You have squashed my nose so that I am sure I shall be mistaken for an Orc! If I am bristling with arrows by nightfall, it will be entirely your fault!"

"I beg your pardon," said Aragorn humbly. "I, I, I was, I was—thinking!"

"Thinking! Thinking! Then I forgive you. The unaccustomed effort must have left you addled. I have heard it said that a Man cannot walk and think at the same time."

"Have you forgotten that Elrond is Peredhil?" Aragorn retorted, nettled.

"No, I have not forgotten. No doubt his human half directs his walking whilst his elven half does the thinking!" Erestor shot Aragorn a triumphant look.

Aragorn had to laugh in spite of himself.

"Erestor, you are wise!"

"Of course," Erestor replied complacently.

"But," sighed Aragorn, "in the matter that concerns me, I fear even your wisdom would not serve."

Erestor was seized with a sudden desire to be helpful, partly because he genuinely liked to be of use, partly because he never neglected an opportunity to demonstrate his erudition.

"Ah, but perhaps I could be of assistance. What is this matter?"

Aragorn hesitated, then plunged on recklessly. Surely it wouldn't hurt to confide in Erestor. If the elf lord's advice seemed impractical, the Ranger could always disregard it.

"Very well, Erestor. I am, I am, well, I am in love."

Erestor's eyes gleamed. An incipient love affair. How delightful! A chance to woo by proxy!

"In love! Wonderful!"

"But what am I to do, Erestor?" cried Aragorn desperately.

"You must take a bath."

"I know _that_!" exclaimed Aragorn, offended.

"Allow me to finish," replied Erestor coolly. "After you bathe, dress yourself—"

"You don't say?" said Aragorn sarcastically. "_I_ never would have thought of that."

"—in presentable clothing rather than your usual garments. Oh, yes, I had forgot. When you bathe, do use soap."

"Erestor!"

"It will also be necessary for you to comb out your hair. I would also suggest that you trim said hair, as well as that furry stuff on your face."

"It is a beard, Erestor."

"Whatever you may call it, trim it."

"Yes, yes," said Aragorn impatiently. "I will bathe, dress nicely, trim hair and beard, and comb my hair carefully. Will that do?"

"For a start. Then it is necessary to sing."

"Sing?"

"Sing."

"As in the melodic and rhythmic rendition of lyrics?"

"That is what is generally involved. Can you do this? It occurs to me that I have never heard you sing in the Hall of Fire."

"True, but Legolas gave me singing lessons before he departed for Mirkwood. He said that my voice will now pass for that of the least-gifted of Elves."

"Ah, that will do, then," said Erestor, who assumed that Aragorn had fallen in love with a human maid who would be astounded to be serenaded by someone with a voice that would have barely passed elven muster. "Now, each dusk, you must position yourself outside your lady's chamber and sing sweetly until dawn. After a few days of your singing, she will summon you inside for a tête-à-tête, which will hopefully progress to a heart-to-heart, and from there you should be able to progressively align each body part until everything is in place."

"In place for what?" said Aragorn stupidly.

"We'll leave that for a later lesson, my boy," said Erestor. "Get as far as the tête-à-tête and report back for further instructions."

That evening, as the nightingales began to sing, a nervous Aragorn stood outside Arwen's chamber. His face was nicked at several points, and he smelled strongly of soap. He took a deep breath, opened his mouth—and nothing came out. In agitation, he paced back and forth for several minutes before again coming to a halt before his beloved's window. Unbeknownst to him, an amused Arwen stood hidden in the shadows next to the window.

Aragorn took several more deep breaths and again opened his mouth. This time he managed to produce a tune, albeit a quavering one. Arwen stifled her giggles as Aragorn doggedly worked his way through the seventeen stanzas of a song celebrating spring and the renewal of life. That would be seventeen stanzas plus the refrain, of course. Elven songs tend to be long, and rightly so. After all, Elves, being immortal, have more than enough time for indulging themselves in song and merriment.

"Echuir echuir!" warbled Aragorn. "Celu celu!"

Arwen could no longer resist; she stepped from the shadows into the moonlight.

"Ah, a swallow is outside my room—the tuilelindo, spring-singer. Or do you rather sing of sources and stirrings?"

"My Lady?"

"Celu means 'spring', but also 'source'; echuir means 'spring', but also 'stirring'."

"My Lady, you be all three. You are the source of the warmth that would transform the coldest day of winter into springtime."

"That is all very well for 'spring' and 'source'," teased Arwen, "but what of 'stirring'. Surely you are not going to tell me that nothing is stirring!"

Aragorn blushed. "Half a minute. I'm sure I can think of _something_!"

"I certainly hope so!" rejoined Arwen. "I should be very disappointed else."

Aragorn was thrown into confusion. Somehow it seemed to him that his efforts at playing the gallant lover had gone awry. Arwen beckoned to him to come nearer to her window. Aragorn stepped forward and opened his mouth to speak, but Arwen placed a finger upon his lips.

"I can think of better uses for this mouth," she whispered. She leaned forward and kissed him lightly, then stepped back.

Aragorn stood gaping. Arwen shook her head in amusement.

"You had better close your mouth. We do not know each other well enough to share that sort of kiss."

"What?"

"Never mind," laughed Arwen. "But do have a chat with Elrohir and Elladan before you next visit my window—especially Elrohir, I think."

Aragorn had a sudden memory of the day that the twins had arranged a demonstration of 'man-kissing', one which had involved Erestor and Glorfindel as the unwitting 'instructors'. He turned a red so fiery that it was a marvel that his hair did not burst into flames.

"Am I the source of this warmth that suffuses your face?" smiled Arwen.

By this point, Aragorn was about as articulate as a Troll.

"Strange," continued Arwen. "Only a few minutes ago you spoke so eloquently, like a chivalric hero out of a romance." She deepened her voice and imitated him. _"You are the source of the warmth that would transform the coldest day of winter into springtime," _she declaimed with mock seriousness. "Now the swain who uttered these gallant words has vanished. But I am glad!" she added vehemently.

Aragorn stirred at last—no, not that way, you evil-minded Reader.

"You are glad?" he said inquiringly.

"You may change your name, Estel, but do not change who you are. Middle-earth needs Estel. And," she murmured softly, "_I _need Estel." Speaking aloud again, she continued.

"Arda needs no courtly hero out of a sentimental tale, but a warrior and a leader, a man of vigor and courage who does not file his tongue pleasingly so as to ingratiate himself with others. Honeyed words will have no effect upon our enemies—as they have no effect upon me."

Hearing her words, Aragorn suddenly returned to himself—and smiled.

"Arwen, I think I can promise you that I will utter no sweet words in the future—for one thing, I believe I may have used up my entire stock in this one conversation!"

"Do you also promise not to sing before my window—I cannot tell you how mortifying it is to have wooers hanging about and crooning love lyrics at all hours of the night."

"I promise."

"Oh, yes, you also must promise not to recite poetry, especially not verses of your own devising. Generally people in love are too addled to compose decent poetry. As for the ancient poems, they have been quite worn out by being repeated ad nauseum."

"Arwen, I will neither compose nor recite poetry."

"Excellent! And now, if you don't mind, I would go to my rest."

She began to move from the window but suddenly turned back.

"One more thing, Aragorn."

"Yes?"

"You are supposed to rinse the soap _off_. If you were to go hunting Orcs tonight, they would smell you coming from miles away. You would never get within an arrow shot of a single one."

"Oh. Well, Erestor said to use soap, so I did."

"Erestor! You sought advice from Erestor! What _were_ you thinking?"

"It isn't so much that I sought advice from Erestor, Arwen. It's just that, well, that I, I, well, I—ran into him!"

Arwen giggled outright.

"Aragorn, when you say you ran into him, you mean that literally, don't you?"

"Well, yes," admitted Aragorn. "But figuratively, too," he hastened to add, "as Erestor _did_ counsel me."

"Yes," said Arwen tartly, "according to how things were done in the Second Age, I'll warrant. This _is_ the Third Age, I hope you know!"

"I shall remember that," said Aragorn humbly. "Goodnight, Arwen."

"Goodnight, Aragorn."

Arwen vanished from the window, and Aragorn made his way to the entrance of the Hall and thence to his room. Things had not gone altogether as Erestor had planned, Reader, but that was probably all to the best, as no doubt Elrohir and Elladan would have said.


	54. Matrimonial Matters

**Folks, for those of you who have been clamoring for more Legolas, he will reappear by the end of this chapter. And then, in the next chapter, which I have begun to write, it will be all Legolas, all the time.**

**_Uinen_****_ Waterlily:_ Goodness! You certainly are a fast reader! It seems as if you only weighed in on Chapter 1, and now here you are at the latest chapter!**

**_Farflung: _****In this chapter you'll get to see Elrond's reaction to the growing love between his daughter and his foster-son. He will not, I hope, be as 'constipated' as he is in the movie, so I think that it's a little more book verse than movie verse. Of course, I've collapsed the two meetings between the lovers that are described in the appendix into just once, so I'm not being particularly faithful to the book either, except, I think, in spirit.**

**_Legosgurl_****: I see in your last review of "Green and Gold" that you have made it to two breaths. You are making real progress! Ready to try for three? **

**_Vicki Turner:_ Love-struck Estel is about to encounter his first check: in the form of Elrond!**

**_The essence of popsicles:_ Elrohir's reaction will be shown in this chapter, as will Gilraen's, Elladan's, and, of course, Elrond's. **

**_Grumpy:_ I have to admit that I, too, really enjoyed the line "…heart to heart, and from there you should be able to progressively align each body part until everything is in place."**

_Kelly Kragen:_ That's an interesting thought, that it "might get quite tiring to spend an entire immortal life with the same person." Maybe that is why marriages seem to be few and far between. Monogamy might not be very appealing to an Elf! Hmmm. Maybe Elladan and Elrohir and Glorfindel (the randy Elf Eye versions) have the right idea. Oh, yes: thanks for the MPA congrats. Actually, I wrote an Erestor-style acceptance speech that really didn't fit the occasion. Talk about randy Elves—those folks over at Elvenlords make Elrohir look positively restrained! Here I was being all thoughtful and reflective while the bushes around me are madly shaking. And, yes, pun intended.

**_Dragonfly:_ Yes, taking Erestor's advice was a bad idea, but you've got to remember that poor Aragorn had received instructions on what to do with only one of his swords. Quite an oversight, as it turns out.**

**_Mo:_ Congratulations on the Red Sox victory. That was a pretty extraordinary series! But, heck, if a couple of little Hobbits can penetrate the heart of Mordor and bring down that dread realm, then I guess anything is possible.**

**_Rinny_****_ Leonhart:_ I actually already have a chapter pretty much completed about Legolas and Gimli's post ROTK adventures, but, unfortunately, it is a chapter that kind of comes in the middle of the narrative. Now I have to write the chapters leading up to that particular chapter.**

_Joee:_ You will get your wishes in this chapter. You will see Elrond and the twins learning about Aragorn and Arwen, and Legolas is going to reappear by the end of the chapter.

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_.**

**Chapter 54: Matrimonial Matters**

Elrond was wise, but even had he not been, it would not have taken him long to notice the bond that had developed between Arwen and Aragorn. Whenever they were at the table, they gazed at each other, even if they were seated far apart. In the Hall of Fire, they gravitated one toward another, always ending up together in some corner, oblivious to the singing and conversation that swirled about them. Aragorn was forever taking her hand in his, and holding it long. Their expressions, their gestures, their tone of voice, everything bespoke love, and a deep love, not a passing fancy.

"They do not feel as brother and sister for one another," Elrond mused to himself one evening after this had been going on for several weeks. "Not surprising, for, even though Aragorn was fostered here, Arwen was away in Lothlórien during all those years. They would neither of them look upon the other as a sibling."

He paced back and forth, wondering how he should respond to the quickening romance.

Briefly he thought of going to one or both and advising against a union on the grounds that Arwen was an eldar and Aragorn an adan, but almost immediately he knew that he would not take that step. To do so would be to call into question the choices made by his own forbearers, thereby casting doubt upon the worth of his own heritage and that of his offspring.

He went onto the balcony and looked out over the valley. He knew that there could be no objection to Aragorn _per se_. The Dúnadan was a worthy Man—both brave and compassionate—and in temperament he was well suited to Arwen. There could also be no objection to Aragorn in terms of his descent. In his veins ran both the blood of Elves and that of Numenoreans of the highest standing—kings and bold leaders who had led their people from triumph to triumph until the time of the fateful Last Alliance, when in one moment of weakness Isildur had betrayed both himself and his people. Perhaps some would have pointed to this moment of failure in one of Aragorn's ancestors as reason enough to eschew an alliance, but Elrond was not of that opinion. That Isildur had erred did not mean that Aragorn would do likewise when faced by the same temptation.

Still, this train of thought reminded Elrond of the uncertainty of Aragorn's future. In Aragorn the blood of the West ran true—this Elrond believed. But merely possessing this blood was no guarantee that Aragorn would rise above any of the other Chieftains who for generations had been all that remained of the dignity of the Northern Kingdom of Arnor. Aragorn might live out his days wandering the wild in exile, as his father had and his father before him and his father before him—back and back well beyond the memory of Men but not of Elves. Worse, the Ranger might fall to his foes, as his father had done, leaving Arwen as bereft as Gilraen had been.

Elrond's steps became agitated. If Arwen were to espouse Aragorn, she would be relinquishing much. She would be parted from her father and her brothers. She would never be reunited with her mother Celebrían, for she would be forfeiting her place in one of the boats that were more and more frequently departing from the Grey Havens. She would be forfeiting—and here Elrond leaned his forehead against a column—she would be forfeiting her immortality. And for what? To espouse a Man who was fated to die? Even if Aragorn achieved his natural life span, which would be longer than that of most Men, he could still but die in the end. Arwen would see him die, and then, bereft of all her kin, she, too, would die.

"And for what?" muttered Elrond. "For what will she have sacrificed all if he is to be naught but an exile, with no land to call his own?"

"For love, Ada," came a soft voice. "Is that so difficult to understand? I love him. For that, yes, I will sacrifice all."

"But it is not only your sacrifice!" cried Elrond. "It is mine as well! It is Elladan and Elrohir's! It is your kindred's! Think of your mother, who awaits you in the Undying Lands. What you do will affect many besides yourself."

"I do not deny the truth of your words, Ada, but these considerations can have no effect upon my choice because, for good or for ill, it has already been made. It is not the nature of the heart to be ruled by logic; nor is it possible for love, once surrendered, to be reclaimed."

"I tell you, Arwen, if Aragorn is to espouse you with my blessing, then he must be no less than the King of both Arnor and Gondor, those two realms reunited and restored to their former glory. Only to such a sovereign will I relinquish the hand of my only daughter, child of Celebrían, grandchild of Galadriel."

"If that is so," said Arwen, meeting her father's intense gaze with a look no less forceful, "then it will behoove you to do all you can to forward his claim, for marry him I shall."

As she said that, Elrond suddenly knew that, the prize for success being so great, Aragorn would indeed be the one who would restore the world of Men and lead them into the Fourth Age.

"For Arwen alone," he said to himself, "Aragorn would challenge Sauron. Even if there were no other rewards to be had for defeating the Dark Lord, her hand would suffice."

Aloud he merely said, "You may be sure that I will do nothing to hinder him. Beyond that I promise nothing."

Arwen bowed her head.

"With that I shall have to be satisfied—for now."

With these words, she strode away, not angry with her father, but determined that her heart would rule in this matter.

Now certain of his course, Elrond was ready to discuss the matter with Aragorn. He would, he resolved, speak with the Dúnadan after the evening meal that very night.

While Elrond had grappled with his thoughts, Aragorn had been closeted with Gilraen, his mother.

"You are an odd mix today, my son."

"What do you mean, Nana?"

"You are both giddy with joy and downcast with apprehension. What has happened to cause you to simultaneously experience such contradictory emotions?"

Aragorn leapt up and began to pace back and forth, unknowingly mirroring the actions of Elrond.

"I am in love, Nana."

"That accounts for the giddiness, then. But why so downcast?"

"Because there may be—complications."

"As in she is not a fitting wife for you, or you are not a fitting husband for her—or both?"

"I suppose the objections to me would be greater than any objection that might be raised regarding her."

"From which I conclude that she would be viewed by all as eminently worthy, whereas you perhaps not? Is that the way of it?"

"Yes, Nana."

Gilraen wondered what maiden Aragorn could have encountered on his travels who would have been thought to have been so far above his station. For Aragorn had yet to journey to Edoras or to Minas Tirith, and the human settlements he had visited were inhabited only by farmers, craftsmen, and merchants. On the other hand, she thought, smiling to herself a little, no doubt these Men, humble as they were but steady and respectable, looked askance at Aragorn when, his clothes worn and stained with travel, he sauntered into their well-ordered villages.

"Where does she dwell, Estel?"

"Here in Rivendell."

Gilraen was surprised but not troubled. One of the lesser ellith, no doubt, with whom Aragorn had spent many hours playing as a child before the time when weapons-training had become an all-consuming passion.

"An elleth, then. You aim high, my son, but with Elrond to forward the match, no doubt any objections on the part of the parents may be overcome."

"She is not _entirely_ an elleth, Nana. Like me, she is of mixed parentage, adan and eldar. I have more of the adan in me, and she more of the eldar, but we are akin, she and I."

Bewilderment gave way to consternation as the truth dawned upon Gilraen.

"You can't mean the Lady Arwen," she exclaimed. "Tell me that that you have not been so foolish as to fall in love with the daughter of Elrond!"

"Yes, it is Arwen I love."

"Estel—Aragorn—we dwell here by the sufferance of Lord Elrond, who has provided sanctuary to you and to your father before you—nay, for centuries the heirs of Isildur have been raised in Imladris by the forbearance of the Eldar. Would you have us be driven into the wild, into uttermost exile, to be hunted relentlessly by our foes until at last the line of Arnor is extinguished utterly?"

"Elrond would not do so," Aragorn replied calmly.

"Arwen is his daughter! Do not presume to know what he would or would not do."

"And I am his foster-son and his kinsman, descendant of his brother Elros. In me Elros lives on. But even were I not his kinsman, even had I not been raised at his table, Elrond would do nothing so unjust as to blame me for loving a maiden so worthy as is his daughter. And name it not foolishness, Nana. Indeed, had I not fallen in love with Arwen, only then would you have been free to question my wit!"

"Yet he will not approve."

"I will make his approval inescapable."

"It will take much to make his approval inescapable."

"Arwen is worth much," Aragorn said simply.

"The price will be high," warned Gilraen.

"I will pay it.

"Yet not you alone," said Gilraen sadly. "Nonetheless, as you are my son, I must of course hope for your success in this endeavor, and if I can forward the match in any way, I will. Alas! Even if a marriage does take place, I doubt that I shall be alive to see it. The period of betrothal shall be considered a long one even in the eyes of an Elf!"

Gilraen kissed Aragorn, and he left her to walk in the garden, where, by prior agreement, Arwen, too, had gone to walk. Long they sat by the fountain laughing and, yes, singing, at which exercise Aragorn had much improved since that night when he had attempted a serenade beneath Arwen's window.

As the household dined later that evening, Elrond said softly to Aragorn that he wished to see him in his private chamber before he retired. Nothing in the elf-lord's impassive face conveyed concern or disapproval, and Aragorn assumed that Elrond, as was his custom, wished to pass on a few words of advice and encouragement before the Ranger departed on his next journey. Still, the young Man was not altogether surprised when Elrond, after making the expected comments about Aragorn's upcoming departure, turned the conversation to the relationship between the adan and his daughter. Since Aragorn had spoken to his mother about his feelings for Arwen, he at once assumed that Gilraen had raised the matter with Elrond.

Elrond smiled wryly when Aragorn said as much.

"I did not need to learn of your attachment from your Naneth! Estel, you could no more disguise your feelings than a Troll could succeed in hiding his presence in a kitchen!"

"Have we been that obvious?" said Aragorn, chagrined.

"Yes," Elrond replied simply.

Aragorn anxiously studied Elrond's face. What would the Lord of Imladris have to say about the budding romance between adan and elleth?

"I will not tell you outright that you may not love my daughter, for I am well aware that love can neither be commanded nor banned. However, the fact that I do not forbid you from loving my daughter does not mean that I give either my approval or my leave. My approval you may never have. Approval, like love, is tied up with one's emotions, although not to the same extent. My emotions I cannot entirely govern. It may be that some day I shall look upon a union between you and Arwen with satisfaction and even joy. It may be that I shall never come to feel so. I do not know!"

"As to my leave, however," Elrond continued, "that you may win regardless of whether or not you have my approval."

"What must I do to win your leave?"

"Become the King of Westernesse," Elrond replied simply.

"The King of Westernesse?"

"Erestor has taught you the genealogies. I do not need to rehearse for you what that means."

"The King of Westernesse was the ruler of the combined kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor."

"Yes."

"There is a great Force that would desire to thwart the resurrection of that great realm."

"If course."

"I must defeat that Force?"

"It would seem so."

"You set a high price on your daughter."

"Ah, but as you are madly in love with my daughter, you will now passionately declare that I value her too lightly."

"But you will then retort that, as you are her father, no one could value her more highly than you do, and so I would be entering into a fruitless debate. No, I must save my energy for reclaiming the world of Men. I shall start at once."

Even Elrond's eyebrows had not the mobility to adequately express his surprise at this last statement. Suffice it to say that they shot up as far as possible without becoming lost in his hair, which, as his hairline was rather elevated, was very far indeed.

"You mean to march at once upon the forces of the Dark Lord!?"

"Elrond, I am passionate but not foolish. I know that it will require many years and much effort before I am to overthrow that Power. At the outset, if I am to someday take on the Dark Lord, I must acquaint myself with the lands nearer to his stronghold—and with the lands that I shall someday reign over. I will have to spend much time in both Rohan and Gondor. Tomorrow I shall put aside the name Aragorn, and as Thorongil I shall set out for the south. I will not return to Imladris for a long time."

Elrond nodded, impressed.

"You are nowhere near winning my leave, but you are already earning my approval."

"But I will have more than either your leave or your approval," vowed Aragorn. "I will have your blessing!"

"If you win both my leave and my approval, you will indeed have my blessing. I will proffer it freely."

"Of course," replied Aragorn insouciantly. "How not? Else it would not be a blessing."

"Now you are becoming altogether too flippant for my liking. You do understand what you are up against?"

Aragorn assumed a more serious expression.

"Elrond, I have been raised on tales of Sauron and his depredations, and you know that my knowledge of Orcs comes from first-hand experience. I am aware of the extent of his power. Yet I nonetheless dare to say that the days of the Dark Lord are surely numbered. To espouse Arwen I would cut my way through all the minions of the Dark Lord. Aye, I would march to the foot of Barad-dûr itself."

"You may very well have to," said Elrond dryly, but now he was suppressing a smile at Aragorn's youthful hubris. The elf-lord had himself witnesses the charge of the hordes of Mordor and knew better than Aragorn what it was that he was proposing to confront. Still, the human had always been a fast learner, and Elrond believed that he would bide his time until there was a very real prospect of vanquishing the forces of Sauron. He arose and bent down to kiss Aragorn's forehead.

"Estel, I hope that you do indeed win both my approval and my leave—aye, and my blessing, too."

"Then it is already half-given," Aragorn replied.

"Aye," said Elrond thoughtfully. "I believe that it is."

His discussion with Aragorn at an end, Elrond went in search of Elladan and Elrohir, for he felt that they should be apprised of the situation. It likely would be awkward if they learned of the matter inadvertently. He found the twins at ease in the garden, in the company of many other young Elves. Elrond noticed with amusement that several of the company—nay! most of them—were ellith.

"Your pardon," Elrond said to the company, "but I fear I must borrow my sons for a little while. Elladan, Elrohir, let us go to the library, for I have news that will be of great interest to you."

Excusing themselves from their companions, the twins fell into step beside their father.

"Not ill news, I hope, Ada," said Elrohir, giving his father an inquiring look.

"It is difficult to say," Elrond replied. "As a general rule, the news that I would share with you is the sort that provokes congratulations. However, there are certain—complicating factors."

With that equivocal answer the twins were forced to be satisfied until they were safe within Elrond's private chamber. Elrond handed each of the younger Elves a goblet of wine and bade them be seated.

"It has come to my attention," he began, "that Aragorn is in love—and not just in love, mind you, but deeply in love. He is desirous of marrying the object of his affection and swears that nothing will stand in his way."

"Is he?" enthused Elladan. "How wonderful! I shall go to him at once and congratulate him!"

Elrond raised his hand to silence him.

"I have not yet finished, Elladan."

Both Elladan and Elrohir looked at him expectantly.

"I also have news of your sister. She, too, is in love."

Elladan again went into raptures.

"Two in love at once! How marvelous! Perhaps Imladris shall be treated to a double wedding! Ooomph!"

That last ejaculation resulted from Elladan's having been jabbed in the side by Elrohir's elbow. With Elladan silenced, Elrohir turned a sober face to their father.

"Ada, is it too much to hope that it is coincidental that Arwen and Aragorn have fallen in love at the selfsame time?"

"It would indeed be too much to hope," Elrond replied.

"Which means?" said Elladan slowly.

"Which means," Elrohir explained impatiently, "that Ada is saying that Arwen has fallen in love with Aragorn and Aragorn has fallen in love with Arwen!"

The twins exchanged worried glances. To Elladan and Elrohir, Aragorn was a brother. It was therefore as inconceivable to them that Aragorn should espouse Arwen as it would have been if either of them had proposed to do so. Elrond had to struggle not to laugh, so troubled were their expressions.

"Ada, you must be wrong," exclaimed Elladan. "Arwen and Aragorn are brother and sister. I am sure that neither would indulge such an-an-an unnatural appetite!"

"It is hardly unnatural for a young Man of his age to be attracted to a beautiful, graceful, compassionate, and wise maiden. Nor would it be unnatural for the aforesaid maiden to return the affection of the youth. Granted that Aragorn is a little scruffy at times, he is nonetheless handsome, strong, brave, thoughtful, and intelligent. Moreover, he comes of a distinguished lineage, worthy of her own."

"But, Ada," said Elrohir. "That doesn't change the fact that they are brother and sister!"

"I am convinced," said Elrond calmly, "that the fact that he is _your_ brother does not make him _hers_. He grew up in your company, but he has no memory of her. Nor does she have any sisterly feelings for him. He is her foster-brother in name only, and neither law nor custom nor their own feelings would prevent their union."

Elladan and Elrohir looked at each other helplessly. This was going to take some getting used to.

"We-ell," said Elrohir slowly, "this is an odd turn of events. Legolas won't marry Arwen because he feels as if he is her brother. Aragorn _will_ marry Arwen because he feels that he _isn't_. This is not how we expected things to turn out!"

Elrond laughed.

"So," he said teasingly, "have you been trying to play matchmaker."

The twins sheepishly admitted that some overtures on the subject had been made to Legolas—and that the Mirkwood Elf had turned them down in no uncertain terms.

"But, truly, Ada," said Elladan, "didn't you ever think that Legolas would have been an excellent match for Arwen?"

Elrond had to acknowledge that he had.

"Yes, soon after Legolas arrived here, it did occur to me that a marriage between the two would have been a most desirable one. I certainly would have done nothing to discourage such an alliance. But before too many years had passed, it became plain that they thought of each other as brother and sister. Hence I never tried to actively encourage them to think of each other as prospective spouses."

"I think, though," the elf-lord added wryly, "that Mithrandir was rather glad to see that the two had come to look upon one another as siblings. Even before Aragorn's arrival at Imladris—long before, in fact—I believe that our wizard friend was looking about for a suitable spouse for the future king of the combined realms of Arnor and Gondor, whoever that turned out to be. When I once idly mentioned my hopes for Legolas and Arwen, Mithrandir gainsaid the idea in most uncertain terms. 'They are not suited for each other—not suited at all!' he huffed. Several more years had to pass before I understood why he had so disparaged a union between the two. He thought that the heir to the throne of Gondor would be turning up at any moment, and he wanted Arwen held in reserve against that day! Perhaps he shall be proved right—about the heir, that is. We shall see."

"I wonder," said Elladan thoughtfully, "What Legolas will say when he hears of it."

"So great is his affection and respect for each that he will steadfastly support her choice and proclaim to all and sundry that Aragorn is worthy of it. But you are not to tell him of this matter—at least not yet."

"Why not, Ada?" asked Elrohir, puzzled.

"I have not yet given my permission for them to marry," Elrond replied simply.

Puzzled, Elladan and Elrohir looked at him wordlessly.

Elrond smiled gently.

"Elladan, Elrohir, you know that I long ago made the decision that I would someday forfeit Middle Earth and return to the Undying Lands. You also know that my brother Elros made a different decision, and his bones have long ago become one with the land that he could not bear to be parted from. Thus the two of us have been sundered—perhaps for all time. If Arwen does espouse Aragorn, she will have made the choice of Elros, and I shall be sundered from her as well—as shall you. I will not lightly permit this to be done. If Arwen is to forfeit her immortality—and if we are to relinquish her to Middle Earth—then she will do so for no one less than the King of Westernesse. This I have told to Aragorn. A marriage may in fact never take place, but if one does, many years may pass before Aragorn is united with Arwen. In the meantime, it would not be wise that the prospect of such a marriage be bruited about. Such talk may draw attention to Aragorn when he still has need of secrecy. Later, when things are a little further along, you may tell Legolas. Of course, what Aragorn himself will tell him I have no way of knowing."

"I suppose," said Elladan, "that means we cannot tell Haldir either."

"And why should Haldir wish to know of this matter?" asked Elrond, eyebrows on alert.

"Um, well, Ada," stammered Elladan, "Arwen spent many years in Lothlórien, and she got along quite—well!—with Haldir. Ah, he gave her archery lessons!"

"Archery lessons? I trust she never shot him through the heart?"

"Actually," Elrohir joined in, "it appears that she did—not meaning to, of course!"

Elrond sighed.

"I pity Haldir. Even if Arwen were not to marry Aragorn, I do not think she would espouse Haldir. He is too serious!"

Elrohir looked triumphantly at Elladan.

"Ada," he crowed, "that is exactly what _I _said."

"You and your brother seem to have taken considerable interest in your sister's wedding prospects," said Elrond dryly. "Pray, when am I to see the same energy and enthusiasm directed toward your own matrimonial futures?"

"Why, Ada," Elrohir replied cheekily, "we were just now auditioning candidates when you interrupted us!"

"Then I suppose you had better get back to it," said Elrond, smiling. He nodded dismissal to the twins, who gratefully escaped back to the garden. They were pleased to find that it was now deserted, for they were still sifting their feelings and had much to say one to the other.

"Anyone who married Arwen would become our brother," reflected Elladan, "and, as Aragorn is already our brother, I suppose that would make him our brother squared."

"Brother squared?" said Elrohir quizzically.

"Yes—don't you remember Erestor telling us about squaring numbers—a number multiplied by itself has been 'squared'. Thus two squared is two times two, and three squared is three times three and four squared is—"

"Yes, yes, I see," interrupted Elrohir. "So you are saying that Aragorn will be twice the brother to us."

"Oh, no," replied Elladan earnestly, "for squaring is not the same thing as doubling. Doubling would be multiplying by two, but three time two, three doubled, is not the same thing as three times three, three squared. Of course, in the case of two squared, since two is the actual number in question, it might _look_ as if one were doubling, but this is mere coincidence."

"Oh, _do_ be quiet," said Elrohir good-naturedly. "Save this mathematical disquisition for Holy Haldir."

"Holy Haldir!" exclaimed Elladan indignantly. "You shouldn't refer with such disrespect to one of the Galadhrim!"

"Earnest Elladan," teased Elrohir, "standing up for Holy Haldir. Here's a thought! Whether squared or doubled I know not, but you and Haldir are surely a pair. Yes! Holy Haldir and Earnest Elladan. You should espouse him!"

"Elrohir" gasped a scandalized Elladan. "You shouldn't talk so! That's simply not done!"

"Oh, you'd be surprised at what's 'done'," replied Elrohir archly. He then strolled away, leaving behind an Elladan who was trying very hard _not_ to wrap his mind around the scenario to which Elrohir had just alluded.

In Mirkwood, Legolas of course had no idea of what was transpiring in Rivendell, but it would have made him glad had he known, for it would have given him a means of fending off his father.

"There's Arwen, now, isn't there," Thranduil was saying hopefully. "You would look lovely together, I hope you know. Your children would be stunning—the boys strikingly handsome, the girls astoundingly beautiful."

"Ada! Do not speak so!"

"But it's true," Thranduil continued doggedly. "Why do you object to my pointing this out?"

"Because that would mean that Arwen and I would have to—we would have to—oh, Ada, please speak no more of this matter!"

"Well, whatever you would have to do, you would be doing it with Arwen," Thranduil said stubbornly. "Surely that is not a prospect that could displease you."

"ADA!"

"And think of the advantages that would accrue to both realms, Legolas. An alliance between Greenwood and Imladris. Your love for the realm of Elrond is strong. Surely you must rejoice at the prospect of taking a step that would be good not only for the land of your birth but also for the one that sheltered you for all those years."

"Ada, Arwen is my sister!"

"Only after a fashion of speaking. Celebrían gave birth to her, whereas you mother is Laurelässe."

Thranduil suddenly paused, amazed. He had uttered the name of his departed wife. Just as he had long refused to utter Legolas' name, fashioned as it was after hers, he had also avoided naming Laurelässe.

"You have never spoken of my mother," said Legolas soberly.

Thranduil nodded, unable for a moment to speak. Then he took a deep breath.

"Your mother—Laurelässe—was a remarkable woman. She was a Noldo who left her kin in order to enter into a marriage with a Sinda who dwelt in a distant land. We had never met, but she was obedient to her parents' wishes—apparently a trait that you have not inherited!"

Thranduil smiled at Legolas, and suddenly it seemed easy for him to speak.

"She spoke differently from the Elves amongst whom she had come to dwell, and she was used to different customs, but these things did not seem to bother her. She adapted easily and gracefully to folk of different lands. Now that _is_ a trait she seems to have gifted you."

Legolas and his father shared a smile.

"I, however, was at first awkward in her presence, and there was no long betrothal during which I could have made her acquaintance. Her land was under threat from Orcs, and her father did not wish to linger in Greenwood. Thus the marriage ceremony took place within days of her arrival at the Great Hall. You may imagine that the first night we spent together was not one destined to be memorable in the annals of romance!"

Legolas, however, preferred _not_ to imagine.

"Still, as regards that, she soon put me at my ease. She had something in common with Edwen Nana: a good-natured acceptance of the fact that she came equipped with a body, and a determination to make the most of it. I do hope that she has passed that attitude on to you!"

Legolas colored a little. He was aware that Elrohir and even Elladan were ahead of him in terms of 'making the most of it'. But he had to have inherited something from his father as well as his mother, and perhaps that explained his reserve in matters of romance.

"In her land," Thranduil continued, "her people had dwelt in the trees, on platforms like unto the ones of Lothlórien. I think it was hard for her to dwell in a hall that was dolven into the earth, and I had shafts driven into the soil and rock wherever possible in order to admit more light and air. I also had additions built so that some rooms were in fact situated above ground, thus permitting the constructions of windows. I was in one such room the day that she was fatally injured, and through the window I saw her being hastily borne to the Hall."

He fell silent for some time, and Legolas feared that he would not continue. But at last he bestirred himself and went on.

"She showed great courage that day," he murmured, "and I should have honored that courage by embracing the son that she died to save. Things would have turned out quite differently."

"But not necessarily for the better," Legolas said softly.

"Ah, that is Mithrandir speaking in you," Thranduil retorted, but not angrily. "That wizard has some curious notion that events are moving toward some desirable conclusion and that everything tends toward the best."

"He is a Maia," Legolas said simply.

"A Maia and a meddler," said Thranduil good-humoredly. "But as he is a Maia, I suppose he cannot help but be a meddler. I do not fault him for the part he has played in this!"

"I am glad to hear that, Ada, for I am sure he was acting for the best."

"Oh, aye, aye, no doubt. Ah, Edwen Nana, you have come to join us?"

"No," the nurse-maid said acerbically, "I have come to call you to an awareness of the time! It seems to have escaped your notice that long ago you should have gone to the dining hall. While _you_ may not care whether or no you have somewhat to eat, there are a great lot of folk who _are_ desirous of dining, and they cannot commence until you deign to put in an appearance! Dreadfully inconsiderate of you to keep them waiting, don't you think?"

"I am very sorry," Thranduil said humbly. "We shall come at once. Legolas, we shall speak more of this matter later, that I promise you."

Arm in arm, the King of Mirkwood and his son hurried off to the dining hall and its patient occupants, but Legolas, you may be sure, already felt as if he had been well fed that day.


	55. Matrimonial Muddling

**_Joee_****_, Grumpy,_ and _Legosgurl_, thanks for your reviews!**

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly**

**Chapter 55: Matrimonial Muddling**

"Ada," Legolas said patiently, "I know that you want only the best for me, but you must give over your plan of betrothing me to Arwen. I could never love her after the fashion of a husband."

"But you do love her," Thranduil said stubbornly.

"Yes, but as my _sister_."

"Still," argued Thranduil, "that makes you better off than I was at the time of my marriage. I didn't love my spouse at all—was terrified of her, in fact. At least you're not afraid of Arwen. Far from it: you enjoy her company."

"Yes, I do enjoy her company—but so, too, I enjoy the company of my cousin Tawarmaenas. Do you want me to marry _him_?"

"Wouldn't have any objections," replied Thranduil, unperturbed, "except that neither of you can bear children. Getting an heir _is_ the point of the exercise, don't you know."

"Ada," said Legolas, growing desperate, "it takes two to marry. Just as I would never marry Arwen, Arwen would never marry _me_."

"Ah, we shall just have to see what Elrond has to say about that. No doubt he would recognize the virtues of an alliance between our houses."

"As a leader, yes, he would recognize the benefits that would accrue from such a union, but Elrond would never force one of his children to marry against his or her wishes and inclinations—unlike another father I could mention!"

This last phrase, uttered in an exasperated tone, brought Thranduil up short, and he studied his son carefully. Legolas' face had become flushed, and he was taking short, shallow breaths. Thranduil realized that he had pushed things too far.

"Very well, ion-nîn," Thranduil said placatingly. "I will not push you into an alliance with Arwen. But will you at least consider the matter of marriage with _someone_? For one thing," he added, speaking lightly, "until such time as you are espoused, all marrying is like to come to a standstill in this kingdom! None of the ellith have eyes for anyone but you. Do have pity upon your fellow males, many of whom have been pining for months, hoping for even the least of glances from an elleth. You must take yourself off the market, as it were, else soon none of the youth in the kingdom will be capable of walking erect!"

The tension broken, Legolas laughed.

"Then I had better espouse Tawarmaenas after all. That would surely discourage the ellith!"

"No!" retorted Thranduil. "That would merely put the ellith in the situation in which the young males now find themselves. The males would have eyes only for you, and it is the ellith who would be left pining for attention. Do attach yourself to an elleth, and do so quickly!"

As luck—or the author—would have it, Gilglîr arrived just then bearing a missive from Círdan. Thranduil thanked him and broke the seal.

"Oh ho!" he chortled as he read the letter, "Círdan writes to tell me that his niece has come of age, and he begs my congratulations. I remember her from a gathering at Lothlórien—delightful elleth! Graceful and elegant she was, with a beautiful singing voice."

Now, as this description encompassed most ellith, Legolas was not moved to raptures. He supposed, however, that he had better show some interest so that he might satisfy his father.

"I am sure she must be lovely," he said dutifully.

"Lovely! Lovely!?" exclaimed Thranduil. "That word hardly does her justice! Nay, she is a vision of voluptuousness! A paragon of pulchritude! The quintessence of elegance!"

Legolas stifled a giggle.

"Really? What color is her hair?"

"Oh, I don't remember _that_!" blustered Thranduil. "Such petty details were submerged within the penumbra of her beauty."

"Pray, tell me, Ada," said Legolas with a smile, "when it was you became such a poet."

"Ah," Thranduil replied smoothly, "one could hardly fail to wax poetical in the presence of such a peerless elleth."

"She is not in your presence at the moment, Ada."

"True, but Círdan writes to invite me to attend a celebration in honor of her coming of age."

"I am very happy for you, Ada. Have a pleasant journey and an enjoyable stay."

Thranduil looked aggrieved.

"Surely you must understand that the duties of my station prevent me from attending. However, in such a case a King may designate his heir as a worthy representative."

"Ada!"

"But aren't you the one who likes to gad about Middle-earth? Here I am offering you a chance to travel to the Grey Havens—you have never been so far west—and you look at me as if I were trying to affiance you to an Orc!"

"Very well, then, but I want Tawarmaenas to accompany me."

"You know very well that it is a fixed policy that both heirs cannot venture in company past the borders of Northern Greenwood. This much I can allow, though. Both Gilglîr and Tathar may journey with you. There, will that satisfy you?"

"I suppose it will have to," Legolas said grudgingly. He turned to leave the chamber.

"Oh, one more thing," his father called after him. "Edwen Nana will accompany you as well."

"Edwen Nana!?"

"Yes. Should it happen that, on your return, you be joined by an Elf of the female persuasion, it will be necessary for there to be a suitable chaperone. Of all the ellith, I can think of no one more fitted for such a duty than Edwen Nana."

Incapable of speech, Legolas fled to his own chamber and sent for Tawarmaenas and Tathar. They found him sitting cross-legged on his bed with an expression that would have suited a Dwarf who had just discovered that he'd been mining a vein of fool's gold.

"Goodness, Legolas," exclaimed Tawarmaenas, "you look like, well, you look like a Dwarf who has just discovered that he's been mining a vein of fool's gold!" (This being a proverb, you see.)

"My father," said Legolas gloomily, "is sending me to the Grey Havens."

Both Tawarmaenas and Tathar cried out in dismay.

"The Grey Havens!" exclaimed Tathar. "But you are so young!"

"Oh, it's not because I am departing for the Undying Lands. Círdan has a niece who has come of age, and I'm to represent my father at a celebration in her honor."

"Oh ho!" said Tathar wisely. "Let me guess: your father hopes that you will become enamored of the fair maiden."

"He could care less whether or no I become enamored, just so long as I marry her!"

"Now, Legolas," Tawarmaenas objected, "you know your father wishes you to be happy. It simply happens that he does not believe it necessary for a husband and wife to be in love at the outset in order for them to be happy in the long term. He is calculating that, a marriage having been achieved, your relationship with your wife will grow from cordiality to respect, from affection to love. So it proved in his case."

"I would rather love my wife from the very beginning of the marriage," retorted Legolas.

"Are you sure that would be wise?" said Tathar thoughtfully. "You wouldn't have anything to look forward to if you started out that way. Whereas, if you began with no more than a slight acquaintance with your spouse, you would have an eternity to romance her. Otherwise, however would you manage to pass your immortal lives without falling into a state of boredom and lassitude?"

"If I accept that line of reasoning," argued Legolas, "then I ought to wish to commence my married life in a state of positive dislike for my spouse. That would allow plenty of room for intrigue and excitement."

This debate was broken by a knock on the door. Legolas opened his mouth to say 'Enter', but Edwen Nana bustled through the door before he had succeeded in uttering the first syllable.

"My dear, dear Laiqua! Your father tells me that you are traveling to the Grey Havens to meet a prospective bride. You must allow me to help you choose the garments for the journey. You have very good taste of course—you have always been careful of your appearance—but you must admit that an elleth's eye might be useful in a situation such as this."

Legolas threw himself face down upon his bed and pounded the mattress with his fists.

"Th-valar-prtec-me-th-valar-prtec-me!" was all that the astonished onlookers could make out as he mumbled into the pillow.

Laiqua! For shame!" scolded Edwen Nana. "You are behaving like an elfling. One would hardly think you ready for marriage."

Legolas raised his head hopefully. "Oh, but I'm not!" he said eagerly. "You don't suppose you could tell my father that, do you?"

"I will do no such thing," Edwen Nana declared firmly. She turned her back on Legolas and flung open the door to his wardrobe.

"This sky blue silk tunic with the silver embroidery, it will be just the thing for your first meeting with Círdan's niece. It does very well at bringing out the color of your eyes. And be sure to wear a silver diadem with it, not a gold one. Now I must go see about having a pair of leggings made to match."

Edwen Nana swept from the room, and Legolas dropped his face back onto his pillow. All that could be heard was "Mrdr-mrdr-mrdr."

"What's that he's saying?" asked Tawarmaenas.

"Either 'murder' or 'Mordor'—possibly both, I suppose."

At length Tathar and Tawarmaenas cajoled Legolas into arising, and the Prince set about packing for the journey. He rummaged through his garments, desperately seeking any that might be worn or stained, but Edwen Nana had taken such prodigious good care of him that all his clothes were in excellent repair. Whether he would or no, he would be presentable when he was introduced to Círdan and his family. He studied himself in a mirror.

"Perhaps," he mused, "I could cut my hair. And dye the remnants some dreadful color."

"Legolas," scoffed Tathar, "you really are carrying on excessively. True, you will have to meet Círdan's niece, but you have met many an elleth. Surely meeting one more will present no great hardship. I am certain that this journey will largely be an uneventful one and that you will return as unencumbered as when you departed."

"You're right," Legolas declared, suddenly resolving to try to adopt a positive outlook on the affair. "What could possibly happen that would be so very dreadful?"

A few days later, Legolas rode out at the head of a column of Elves that included Gilglîr, Tathar, and Edwen Nana. They set an easy pace. That first evening, they camped within the western border of Mirkwood itself, and the second night they sheltered at Beorn's settlement. A week of leisurely riding brought them at last to the outskirts of Lothlórien. They had not seen so much as a wolf, let alone a warg or an Orc.

"Would that all journeys could be as easy as this one has been," observed Gilglîr.

"I don't like it," said Edwen Nana darkly. "It is not natural for things to go so well. Something's going to happen—you mark my words!"

"Nana," teased Legolas, "I have never known you to be superstitious."

Before Edwen Nana could reply, there was the sound of a branch breaking far above them. This was followed by a yell and the sound of something crashing through boughs. Suddenly all fell silent again, although the Elves, peering up toward the canopy, could see that a branch was shaking ever so slightly.

"Hullo!" Legolas shouted up into the tree. No answer.

"I'll climb up," offered Tathar. He sprang up and, seizing a branch, lightly swung himself into the tree. Within seconds, he had vanished. Soon the Elves heard him laughing, and he spoke loud enough for them to hear.

"Say, friend, isn't that an odd place to be hanging about? By the way, it's Orophin, isn't it?"

Legolas let out a whoop. Orophin was developing quite a reputation for plummeting from great heights. For awhile an adolescent Rúmil had been famous for suddenly pitching out of trees, but by now Orophin, always the most awkward of the three Lórien brothers, had exceeded his brother's exploits in this department. Legolas guessed that the Lórien Elf's clothes must have gotten snagged on a branch as he fell and that he had been dangling helplessly, too embarrassed to call for help from the Mirkwood visitors.

A few minutes later, Tathar dropped back down to the ground, followed by an Orophin who was trying very hard to look casual about the whole affair.

"Mae govannen, Legolas," he said as if nothing had happened.

"Yes," twitted Legolas, "from your point of view, we are well met indeed."

Orophin colored a little but otherwise maintained the appearance of nonchalance.

"Will you be staying long, Legolas? Rúmil and Haldir are out on patrol. They would be sorry to miss you."

"I am afraid that we will only be remaining for a week. Then we will cross over to Imladris and from thence to the Grey Havens."

"The Grey Havens!? No!"

Legolas reassured his friend.

"I am not departing these lands. I merely go to represent my father at a coming-of-age celebration in honor of Círdan's niece."

"Oh ho!" said Orophin wisely. "Let me guess: your father hopes that you will become enamored of the fair maiden."

Legolas grimaced. Was it so obvious to all that his father was bent on his marrying as quickly as possible?

"I suppose the thought did cross his mind," he said shortly.

Orophin grinned at Legolas' expression and tone of voice, his own embarrassment quite forgotten.

"Well, I had better take you to a pleasant flet so that you can be at ease. Wouldn't want you to be anything other than well-rested when you meet your Intended!"

Legolas scowled at Orophin, but he was nevertheless glad when his friend led him to a comfortable talan well-hidden in the center of a cluster of mallorn trees. Privacy was something he enjoyed little of at the Great Hall. He had scarcely had time to refresh himself, however, before Orophin reappeared to tell him that the Lady Galadriel had sent word that he was to be summoned to her flet. Legolas shrugged resignedly.

"I am Prince Legolas Thranduilion," he said to himself. "My time is not my own. Indeed," he added ruefully, "my _life_ is scarcely my own."

Orophin cheerfully led Legolas up to the flet of the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien and made a great show of announcing the arrival of the Prince. He immediately had reason to regret his having been so ostentatious, for Galadriel, casting her gaze upon him, noticed his disheveled appearance and the leaves that were caught in his hair.

"Orophin, whatever has happened to you?"

Now Orophin flushed indeed.

"I stepped on a rotted branch, my Lady. It broke, and I, I fell."

"You fell?"

"Yes, my Lady."

"It is lucky you were not seriously injured. You managed to catch hold of a branch, I assume."

Orophin flushed an even deeper shade of red.

"My fall was—arrested, my Lady."

"Ah, arrested. I see. Well, I suggest you go now and tidy up a bit before the evening meal."

Orophin bowed and carefully descended from the flet.

"Galadriel," said Celeborn as soon as Orophin was out of hearing, "we were considering whom to send on that embassy to the Dwarves. I do think we ought to send Orophin. It would be an excellent way of keeping that lad's feet on the ground. He couldn't possibly fall from a tree whilst treating with the Dwarves."

"No, he wouldn't fall from a tree," agreed Galadriel. "But," she added, "he could very well fall into one of the chasms that the Naugrim have dug. It would be mortifying to him if he had to be rescued from a pit by one of those dolvers."

"True," conceded Celeborn, "but whatever are we to do with him? It won't do to have one of the Galadhrim pitching out of trees on the unlikeliest of occasions!"

"It's only a stage, Celeborn. Give him another century or two and I'm sure he'll grow out of it. After all, I seem to remember a certain other Elf of my acquaintance who had trouble keeping his feet in trees."

"Ah," replied Celeborn gallantly, "if I had trouble keeping my feet, then it was you who were to blame."

"Indeed? I am told that on one occasion you were discovered hanging upside down, a vine wrapped around your ankle—and this several decades before you and I had even met!"

"I was practicing, my Lady," Celeborn said grandly, "so that someday I might fall gracefully at the feet of my beloved."

"Gracefully? You were described as having been thrashing about rather wildly."

"Yes, well, that was at the outset of my career. When I finally did fall for you, you must admit that I did so gracefully."

Galadriel laughed gently, and the two kissed before Celeborn bade Legolas farewell and descended from the flet. With wonder the Prince had been watching the entire exchange between the two espoused Elves. Had this been how his father and his mother had bantered one with the other? Would _he_ ever be able to talk so easily with a maiden—with his own spouse, perchance? Galadriel caught his eye and winked. Legolas blushed and lowered his gaze.

"What are you thinking, Legolas?"

"I am thinking, I am thinking—oh, you know what I am thinking, my Lady! You always know what everyone is thinking. Why do you even bother asking?"

"Because it makes conversations rather one-sided if I don't," Galadriel replied with a smile. "But do not fret, Legolas. Celeborn and I have been together for Ages, and of course we have developed this easy manner of talking one with the other. Someday Orophin will learn how to avoid falling out of trees, and someday you and an elleth shall sit chattering as merrily as magpies."

"I may have to develop that facility rather quickly," said Legolas gloomily. "You do know why my father is sending me to the Grey Havens, don't you?"

"Yes, I had divined the reason."

"Why is he so intent on marrying me off!?"

"First of all, your father would not be 'marrying you off'. It is customary for the elleth to come and dwell with the family of her spouse, so he would be gaining a daughter and not saying farewell to a son. Secondly, he wants you to be happy, and he remembers now how happy he was with Laurëlassë. Thirdly, a king must always think of his realm, and it is customary for a king to be succeeded by his son, who will then be succeeded by his son. Your father is thinking about you and behaving toward you both with great love and great logic. It is rare when these two sentiments coincide."

"I suppose I should be grateful—I _am_ grateful—but I am also reluctant. To marry—it is such a serious step, it is, well, it is—"

"Forever," Galadriel finished. "For the rest of your immortal life, which is a very long time."

"Yes! Oh, Lady Galadriel, won't you speak to my father on my behalf? I don't want to marry just anyone!"

"Círdan's niece is not 'just anyone'."

"I mean, I wouldn't want to marry anyone whom I didn't love."

"Legolas, name for me those whom you do love."

"Do you mean of the maidens?"

"No, I mean all those, of either gender, whom you cherish deeply."

"My father, then, and my cousin Tawarmaenas, and my friend Tathar. Gilglîr and my nursemaid, Edwen Nana. Each and every member of my foster-family: not only Elrond but also Elrohir, Elladan, Arwen, and Aragorn. Glorfindel and Erestor, too. I cherish you and Celeborn and Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin. And of course I love Mithrandir."

"Of course," said Galadriel, smiling. "Legolas, it seems to me that you have a great capacity for love. Yet you did not love all of these individuals at the outset, and some of them have on occasion given you reason to be angry or resentful toward them; nevertheless, your love for each has grown strong. Is it so unreasonable to believe that you will someday meet with an eligible elleth for whom your love will likewise grow strong? I do not think you need fear being bound to a maiden for whom you feel neither respect nor affection, and if you grant that much, love will be sure to follow, as it followed in the wake of your shared life with all these others."

"You are right," said Legolas thoughtfully. "When I first met Mithrandir, I did not love him—I feared him! I hid in a tree and spied on him. When he tempted me out of the tree with an offer of food, I ate standing up, carefully watching him all the while. It was long before he could get me to utter even one word."

"And now?"

"And now it would be as the end of the world if he were to fall!"

"Careful," warned Galadriel. "It is not unknown for an Elf to lose someone beloved of him and yet perforce to go on living. Elrond is a case in point; your father is another. Gandalf will not be always with you."

"Nay, Lady," Legolas insisted, "Mithrandir _will_ always be with me."

"In one fashion or another, yes," Galadriel answered. "But Gandalf the Grey, no, he will not always be with you."

Legolas opened his mouth to protest, but Galadriel raised her hand and stayed him.

"Let us discuss the matter at hand—your impending marriage."

"Impending!?"

"As it is in the future, it is of course impending."

"But my Lady, it is customary to refer to something as 'impending' when it is near at hand."

"Such terms are relative, Legolas. To a Man, an event that will take place on the morrow is 'impending'; to an Elf, however, the event may still be a thousand years in the future."

Legolas looked immensely relieved.

"Oh, if that's all you mean, my Lady!"

Galadriel teased him gently.

"Look you, Legolas: you should be glad that Círdan's niece has distracted your father from his thoughts of marrying you to my granddaughter."

"Has he spoken to you of that?"

"He did not need to. As he cast his mind over all the ellith who would be suitable, it is hardly possible that he would overlook the Lady Arwen. It needed no mirror to tell me this! Nor did I need the aid of anything more than my own wit to know that neither you nor Arwen would look upon such a marriage with favor. I have seen how it is between the two of you!"

Legolas was now even more relieved.

"So you will not second my father in this matter?"

"Indeed I will not!"

To Galadriel's surprise—although she hid it well—Legolas threw his arms around the Lady of Lothlórien. This was of course unusual behavior on the part of the normally undemonstrative Legolas. (Actually, it would have been unusual behavior on the part of any Elf. They were not given to bear-hugs—or dwarf-hugs as they called them—but preferred to show their affection is a gentler fashion, through caresses and kisses.)

"Oh, Galadriel, I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I am!"

"I believe," said Galadriel dryly, "that you have just done so in no uncertain terms."

Blushing, Legolas released his grip and stepped back from the smiling Lady of Lórien.

"Well," he said cheerfully, "I may have to marry eventually, but at least it is certain that I won't have to marry Arwen. Even if I am not soon espoused to Círdan's niece, my Ada will have to look somewhere other than Elrond's Hall for the next candidate!"

"Arwen is not the only elleth who dwells in that Hall," Galadriel pointed out.

"True," conceded Legolas. Suddenly he remembered Malthenrî, with whom he had been dallying during the weeks before his departure from Rivendell and who had kissed him before he had set out on his return to Mirkwood. Strange, he had given little thought to her over all these months.

"If you have not been thinking of her," said Galadriel, still smiling, "then, no, she is probably not the one."

Legolas shook his head, bemused. No matter how often Galadriel managed to read his mind, he still was surprised.

"Why are you so amazed?" said Galadriel. "You yourself can read the thoughts of trees. Moreover, surely you must know that it is the custom of the wisest and oldest amongst the Eldar to talk without speaking aloud."

"Yes, if they _want_ their thoughts to be read. But you perceive the minds of those who do not even wish it. It is no wonder that some mortals believe you to be an enchantress!"

"And you?"

"Oh, I don't believe it; I _know_ it!"

Suddenly Legolas had a flash of insight.

"My Lady, are you a Ring-bearer?"

Galadriel held her finger up to her lips.

"I am sorry," said Legolas contritely. "Some questions are not to be asked."

"True, and now, enchantress or no, I divine that Orophin awaits impatiently at the base of this tree, probably joined by now by Haldir and Rúmil, whom I recalled as soon as you crossed the border of our land."

Legolas bowed and eagerly descended from the flet.

"Interesting," Galadriel murmured to herself as she watched him go. "Few there are who give thought to the Rings. Indeed, most Elves are not even aware of their existence. I think Mithrandir must be right about that young Elf. Even were it not for his birthmark, it is plain that he is somehow tied up with this Thing. Well, at least that means he will not be marrying anytime soon. Much will stand in the way between Legolas and domestic bliss!"


	56. Matrimonial Madness

**Folks: This is a light-hearted interlude before I get back to the read business of arranging a marriage. A marriage should take place in the next chapter—but with a twist!**

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Chapter 55: _Grumpy, Legosgurl_, and _Andi__-Black_.**

**Vocabulary**

**elleth—****elf maiden**

**ellith—****elf maidens**

**ellon****—****male Elf **

**ellyn****—****male Elves**

**thêl****-nîn—****my sister**

**Chapter 56: Matrimonial Madness**

A month after his conversation with Galadriel, Legolas rode at the head of a column that approached the doors to Elrond's Hall. With an effort he restrained himself from urging his horse into a gallop.

"I must remember," he chided himself, "that I am no longer a nameless elfling but rather Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Northern Mirkwood."

Riding behind him, Gilglîr and Edwen Nana exchanged smiles. They could tell from the edgy way that Legolas sat his horse that he was eager to once again see his childhood friends.

Legolas pulled up in front of the Hall and dismounted as gracefully as his excitement permitted him, which, as he was an Elf, was still very graceful indeed. Gilglîr came to stand slightly behind him to the right, and Tathar and Edwen Nana stood behind him to the left. Just before the doors opened and Elrond stepped forth, Edwen Nana reached swiftly forward and adjusted the Prince's diadem, a golden one.

"Nana!" Legolas whispered, mortified, and then he straightened himself and tried to look dignified.

"Mae govannen, Legolas Thranduilion," Elrond greeted him, the formality in his manner belied by the joyful look in his eyes. "Mae govannen," Elrohir and Elladan echoed him. Like their father, they were unable to hide their happiness even as they went through the motions of a ceremonial welcome. Now Arwen stepped forward.

"Mae govannen, Anomen Elrondion. For I do not as yet know you well in your guise as Legolas Thranduilion."

"Mae govannen, thêl-nîn," replied Legolas gratefully. Elrohir and Elladan glanced over at their father to see how he took this latest sign that Arwen and Legolas felt as siblings one to the other. Elrond was smiling.

"With your leave, Lord Elrond," Legolas continued, "I would present to you Gilglîr, Seneschal of the realm of Northern Mirkwood, and Tathar, first amongst my advisors. And this Lady whom you see before you is known to all as Edwen Nana, first amongst all the mothers of the realm."

Elrond and his sons inclined their heads in acknowledgment of these distinguished guests, and Arwen offered Edwen Nana her hand and drew her aside.

"You must allow me to show me to your room, Edwen Nana. It is the one next to mine, so that if you need anything you will not have to rely upon the ellyn, who can be woefully indifferent to the niceties of hosting a lady."

"But will I be near Laiqua's room, so that I may look after him?"

"During your stay here," Arwen said firmly, "you will look after no one. Instead, you will be the one who is looked after."

"I must look after someone," protested Edwen Nana. "There's that little Estel, now. Can't I look after him?"

Arwen smiled.

"That 'little Estel' has grown up into a Man. In any event, he already has someone pledged to look after him."

Edwen Nana looked searchingly at Arwen.

"Oh ho! Is that the way of it? I see it is a good thing that Thranduil is placing his hopes on Cîrdan's niece!"

Arwen blushed a little. She well knew that some had speculated that she was to be shortly betrothed to the Prince of Northern Mirkwood. She hoped that this visit by Legolas, which would end without such a betrothal being announced, would put an end to the rumors.

Legolas, the innocent cause of said gossip, was looking about him eagerly as he walked alongside Elrond.

"Where is Aragorn, Elrond? I had hoped that he would be here to greet me."

"Aragorn by now has probably arrived at Edoras. I am sorry that you missed him, Legolas, for it may be years before he returns to Imladris."

"Why is that?"

"Once he has thoroughly acquainted himself with the land of Rohan, he will probably journey on to Gondor and remain there for quite some time. When we next see him, he will be much changed, I believe."

"For good or for ill?"

"He will have gained in strength and maturity. He will have lost—or at least have been forced to put aside—his playfulness and sense of mirth. So, my answer will have to be, 'yes' and 'yes'."

"An answer that would be worthy of Galadriel!"

"That is no surprise, as I had it of her. I have said nothing that she has not already opined."

"Perhaps I may be able to journey to visit him," murmured Legolas. "But, no," he added quickly, "my father will never permit it!"

Legolas turned to another matter.

"And Mithrandir is also absent?"

"Yes, he is on one of his periodic visits to the Shire. Almost I would say that he has become obsessed with that quaint land!"

"Yes," Legolas said thoughtfully. "And he has made certain that its folk are well guarded whenever he himself is not present. Lucky for the Periannath that he is so solicitous of their welfare, but alas for me!"

Legolas put on a face that put Elrond in mind of a pouting elfling.

"No Aragorn! No Mithrandir!" the young Elf sighed melodramatically. "I am _so_ disappointed, Elrond!"

"Yes, and to make matters worse, you have just missed some other guests whose company you would have greatly enjoyed."

"Other guests? Who, Elrond?"

"A party of Dwarves. They departed just two days hence. Traveling to the Shire, they were. I believe them to be friends of Mithrandir."

Legolas grimaced.

"That is something about Mithrandir that I have never understood. Why does he stoop to consorting with Dwarves!?"

"Legolas, you really must try to be more open-minded on the subject of the Naugrim."

"I don't see why!"

"My, my!" Elrond said sardonically. "Aren't we the stubborn elfling today!"

Elrond smiled. He had many memories of Legolas when the young Elf truly had been an elfling. But when he spoke again, his voice was serious.

"Legolas, you will someday be King of Northern Mirkwood and responsible for dealing with the Dwarves of Erebor. That's one good reason. If that were not enough, Mithrandir wishes it, and you should comply if only out of respect for your mentor."

"It is true that Mithrandir thinks I should try harder to accommodate the Dwarves," Legolas conceded, "although I do not understand why he is so insistent on the subject."

"Doubtless he has a reason—perhaps he has seen something in a vision vouchsafed him by Galadriel."

"You'd think he could share his knowledge with me!"

"As you well know, Legolas, our esteemed wizard is not one to reveal any information until the need is certain. You will simply have to trust him."

Legolas groaned in mock frustration.

"Every century it's the same story: trust the wizard! trust the wizard!"

"That one, anyway," muttered Elrond.

"What did you say, Elrond?"

"Nothing! Nothing! Come, let us dine. Afterward you must come to the Hall of Fire, where all your age mates will be assembled."

"Not another 'dance'?" Legolas said apprehensively.

Elrond laughed.

"I thought that in the end you rather enjoyed that occasion."

"Yes," Legolas admitted, "but I wasn't as obviously 'on the market' as I am today."

"Oh," Elrond said casually. "I wouldn't worry if I were you. Everyone thinks you are to be espoused to Arwen, so the ellith will give you a wide berth—albeit reluctantly, I am sure."

"Elrond! And you have allowed this rumor to circulate?"

"Why ever not? Since it was started, Arwen has for the first time been able to take walks in the garden without being swarmed by suitors. And you yourself will find that the rumor will make your stay here the more relaxing. I suggest that you hold Arwen's hand on every possible occasion so as to strengthen the appearance that the two of you are passionately in love."

"Elrond!"

"Ejaculating quite a lot today, aren't we?" teased Elrond.

"Elrond!"

"And again!"

Legolas clapped his mouth shut and glared indignantly at the Lord of Imladris.

"Now, Legolas," Elrond said soothingly, "I will tease you no more on this matter if it truly offends you."

"It does, Elrond. It is, it is, well, it is _mortifying_ to have folk forever speculating on the subject of whether or not I am engaged in this or that amorous liaison—and now with Arwen, no less! You do not know how disconcerting it is that everywhere I go, folk cluster about me, gawking and gossiping. Lately, some have begged me to inscribe my name for them upon bits of parchment, and there are many who try to stay me long enough so that they may trace my portrait, preferably alongside their own!"

"It is to be expected, Legolas. You are young, handsome, personable, and very, very eligible. I am sure that throughout elvendom there are ellith who fall asleep each night dreaming of you in chambers upon whose walls they have pinned your likeness."

Elrohir and Elladan had joined them by now, and Elrohir opened his mouth to add his own observations. Elladan, however, poked his twin hard in the stomach and so prevented him. He did not think Legolas' mood would be improved by his learning that Elladan and Elrohir knew not only many young ellith but also many young ellyn who fell asleep each night dreaming of him. Nor would Legolas be pleased to learn that there were likewise some young ellyn in possession of his likeness—especially as some of the more imaginative artists had not troubled to sketch leggings and tunics for the subject of their fantasies. No, better that Elrohir should not mention these matters!

And so the conversation turned to other matters, and Legolas went to dinner ignorant of the turmoil that he engendered in the hearts of both ellith and ellyn. Oh, Reader, sometimes it is indeed true, as Men have been known to say, that ignorance is bliss!


	57. Things Fall Apart

**Folks, somebody's getting marrrried! Also, there are nekkid Elves in this chapter. ("Hey!" protests a reader, 'somebody's unwrapped my Christmas gift!")**

**_Andi_****_-Black: _More 'ejaculations' coming up.**

**_Legosgurl_****: For shame! You are backsliding on your breathing exercises! And coke up your nose! Really! Next thing you know you'll be indulging in pipeweed and 'shrooms'. Elrond really needs to give you a good talking to. Or maybe I should unleash Erestor on you. Yes, that's what I'll do. A lecture from him would serve you right! **

**_Terreis_****: You'll have to continue worrying over Legolas' marital prospects because I'm not done with him yet!**

**Vocabulary**

**elleth—****elf maiden**

**ellith—****elf maidens**

**Malthenêl—'Golden Star', niece of Glorfindel and twin of Malthenrî**

**Malthenrî—'Golden Wreath', niece of Glorfindel and twin of Malthenêl**

**naneth—****mother**

**nanith—****mothers**

**Chapter 57: Things Fall Apart**

At dinner, Elrond sat Legolas next to Arwen, and he smiled innocently at Legolas when the young Elf cast him an aggrieved look.

"I do think Ada is enjoying this," grinned Elladan as he handed a plate of fruit to Elrohir.

"True," replied his twin. "I have not seen him so amused since Mithrandir got that sticky bun stuck in his beard."

"Ah, yes," sighed Elladan nostalgically. "You were a remarkably good shot with sticky buns."

"I am sure that I should still be a good shot if I had an occasion to throw one."

Elrohir looked around the room.

"If I were still inclined to wield sticky buns, I should try to land one in Tathar's hair. It wants an ornament, don't you think?"

Elladan studied the carpenter from Mirkwood.

"Yes, he would look very good with a brown knob on his crown—in theory only, of course."

Elrohir picked up a bun and hefted it.

"Elrohir," warned Elladan, "you'd best not throw that. You are not an elfling, and your actions will not be met with the forbearance that they formerly enjoyed."

"Since when were they ever met with forbearance," Elrohir protested. "Ada always punished us."

Elrohir caught Legolas' eye, raised the sticky bun slightly, and pointed his chin toward Tathar. Legolas nodded back vigorously, his eyes gleaming.

"You see, Elladan," Elrohir chortled, "Legolas wants me to throw it—and as he is our honored guest, I have no choice but to comply."

Elladan sighed in resignation and decided to eat his own meal as quickly as possible so that he could escape the dining hall in advance of any battle that might feature flying dishes. As for Elrohir, he watched Elrond carefully, and when the elf-lord turned to speak to Gilglîr, Elrohir flung the bun. His aim was indeed good, and it hit Tathar above the ear, where it dangled from his braid. Tathar lifted his hand to his head, felt the sticky bun, and worked it free, wincing a little as his hair was pulled. Holding the bun, he looked around the table, eyeing each and every one of the younger Elves. At last, unable to determine the perpetrator, he shrugged and deposited the bun on the table next to his plate. It was not long before Edwen Nana noticed it.

"For shame, Tathar, wasting food in that manner. If you didn't want that bun, you shouldn't have taken it."

Elrohir had been carefully governing his countenance, but now he could not forbear smirking. Tathar caught sight of Elrohir's face and, divining that he was the culprit, resolved that he would pay back the bun with interest. He excused himself from the table and disappeared. As soon as Elrohir saw this, he likewise excused himself and anxiously followed after Tathar, taking care to keep out of sight, of course. To the relief of the Rivendell Elf, the Mirkwood carpenter merely wandered into the garden and settled himself onto a bench beside the fountain.

"Ah, I feared that he was going to plot some mischief," Elrohir said to himself. "On second thought, though," he added, "I'll just go and lock the door to my chamber so that, should he later determine on some plan of revenge, at least he won't be able to stage it in my room. I have need of my bedchamber later this evening and don't want buckets of paint falling on my head!"

Elrohir made his way to his room and securely locked the door from the outside. Most Elves don't bother with locks, but Elrohir had found that it was sometimes necessary to barricade his door against the onslaught of indignant ellith or, worse, the parents of said indignant ellith. Usually the lock would hold long enough for Elrond to arrive in time both to smooth the ruffled feelings of parents and to prevail upon the nanith to smooth the ruffled skirts of maidens. Once, however, a particularly clever naneth enlisted the help of a Dwarf who was visiting at the time. That doughty fellow struck off the lock with one blow of his axe, and when Elrond arrived to rescue Elrohir, he found him cowering under his bed, whence the naneth had been trying to sweep him through vigorous application of a broom. It took a great deal of cajoling on Elrond's part before he was able to persuade the naneth to abandon the effort so that a very embarrassed and very dusty Elrohir could crawl forth. After that incident, Elrohir had had to spend many weeks patrolling on the Dunland border before Elrond would permit him to return to Rivendell.

This night, however, there were no Dwarves in residence, and Elrohir was certain that the lock would hold, both against plotting guests and outraged parents. He cheerfully returned to the Hall of Fire and set his sights on his selected paramour for the night. This was Malthenêl, whom he had been pursuing for several decades and who seemed at last on the verge of succumbing to his blandishments.

"Malthenêl," he said to her as the hours wore on in the Hall of Fire, "these songs and tales are all very well, but don't you think it rather noisy tonight, what with all these guests from Mirkwood. Let's go to my chamber, where it will be quiet. There I will build a fire as cozy as any lit in this hall, I assure you."

Malthenêl looked slantwise at Elrohir, considering. She knew very well the nature of the 'fire' Elrohir was planning to kindle. At last, however, she decided that she could 'stand the heat', and she consented to accompany Elrohir to his chamber.

Whilst Malthenêl and Elrohir were withdrawing to Elrohir's chamber, Legolas was trying to summon the courage to speak to Malthenêl's twin, Malthenrî. Somehow he had found himself escorting Arwen the entire evening—Elrond's doing again!—but at last he managed to hand her off to Tathar, who had reappeared, saying he had gone out for a breath of air in the garden. Unencumbered by his putative 'fiancée', Legolas now moved toward a knot of young Elves, in the midst of which stood Malthenrî. She was by no means neglected! This circumstance made Legolas feel less guilty about not having sent any messages to her during all the long months he had been away in Mirkwood. He was soon to learn that he needn't have felt any guilt at all.

"Malthenrî," said one of the Elves, "when do you depart for Lothlórien?"

"Not for another month entire," Malthenrî replied.

"How can you bear the delay?" asked one elleth breathlessly.

"What is a month to an Elf?" replied Malthenrî casually. "Besides," she giggled, "no matter how long I must wait, I will _still_ have an eternity to spend with my belovéd."

"True," replied the elleth, and there was laughter all around—save on the part of Legolas, who gaped. Malthenrî smiled at him and took his hand.

"Here is someone I have known in former times. Please excuse me whilst I talk with him so that we may become reacquainted. I have not seen him in a long time."

The other Elves murmured assent and drifted away. Malthenrî gave Legolas' hand a gentle squeeze.

"I am sorry that you learned of my engagement in such a casual manner. I meant to talk with you privately."

"You should not be sorry. I said I would send you messages, but I never did."

"Nor did I, Legolas. I think that it must now be plain to us both that the attraction we felt for each other was a superficial one—but first loves often are, my nana tells me."

Legolas was relieved to know that she had not been hurt by his neglect. Then he became curious as to her intended.

"Your betrothed lives in Lothlórien. Who is he?"

"Rúmil."

"Rúmil!"

"You are surprised. Why?"

"Rúmil is so, so—wild!"

"Exactly," teased Malthenrî. "Would you have me espouse Haldir instead?"

"Of course not," laughed Legolas. "I had forgotten the tales of your unruly youth. You and Rúmil are of a piece and will be very pleased one with the other!"

"Yes, I think that is so."

"Of course," Legolas groaned in mock distress, "once my father hears of this, he will hold the two of you up as another example to me. 'You see, Legolas', he will say, 'your friends Malthenrî and Rúmil have gotten married. Whatever is keeping you?'"

"Well, whatever _is_ keeping you? Anyone you asked would agree to marry you on the instant. _I_ would have!"

"Ah, but you have already conceded that our love was superficial. One doesn't want to marry on that basis. Wouldn't it have been dreadful for you if you'd married me and then discovered you truly loved Rúmil? An eternity is a long time to be married to the wrong Elf!"

"True. I must say that I am glad you _didn't_ ask. I hope I do not offend you by saying so."

"No, indeed, you do not. And I am glad that now there is one promise I may make you that I can be sure of keeping. I _will_ visit you and Rúmil in Lothlórien. It is much easier for me to journey to that place than it is to the more distant Imladris. I shall see you again—as my dear friend."

The two exchanged kisses and parted, both happy at how things had turned out.

By the time this conversation had concluded, Elrohir and Malthenêl had safely ensconced themselves within Elrohir's chamber. For a little while they sat quietly looking at the fire. Finally Malthenêl stirred restlessly.

"My Nana insisted on my wearing this gown tonight, but it is cut too tight around the neck. I begged her to allow me to set it aside to be altered, but she said it was my finest gown and I ought to wear it in honor of Prince Legolas."

"Oh, that is too bad," said Elrohir sympathetically. "I know what it is to wear a garment that is too tight."

"I am sure you do," Malthenêl said to herself, suppressing a smile.

They sat in silence for awhile longer. At last Malthenêl sighed. Elrohir was immediately all solicitousness.

"I could unfasten the top bottom—I mean, the top button," he offered helpfully.

"Oh, _could_ you? I am sure I should feel much more comfortable if you did!"

Malthenêl lifted her hair from the back of her neck, and Elrohir undid the fastener.

"There. Is that better?"

"Much better."

They resumed staring pensively at the fire. Again Malthenêl sighed.

"Now that my neck is no longer constrained, I am much more aware of how tight the garment is at other points, such as across my brea—chest, for example."

Elrohir, ever helpful, offered to undo a few more buttons.

"Yes, thank you," said Malthenêl gratefully.

Of course, now Malthenêl came to realize how tight the dress was about her waist, and so Elrohir obligingly undid a few more buttons. Then a new problem arose. The bodice began to slip from Malthenêl's shoulders. First it would slip from her left shoulder. She would hitch it up; then it would slip from her right shoulder. After struggling with the garment for several minutes, she cried out in vexation, "Oh, this dress is such a bother." Of course, this was the 'opening' Elrohir had been waiting for.

"As it is so troublesome, perhaps you would like to dispense with it. I could give you a blanket to wrap in."

"Oh, _could_ you?" breathed Malthenêl.

"I could indeed," Elrohir gallantly declared, and he promptly fetched a wrap for her. As the Fair Folk did not and do not now wear anything as vulgar as 'knickers', this meant that there was now nothing more substantial than a loosely draped blanket between Elrohir and his intended—except his own garments, of course, which consisted of tunic and leggings (again, no knickers).

"Ah, I am so very comfortable," cooed Malthenêl. "It is quite delightful to finally shed that constricting garment. But, Elrohir, your tunic looks to be made out of wool. Why ever did you choose such a garment on a night as warm as this? And we have been sitting in front of a fire, too! You must be very uncomfortable."

Elrohir allowed as how he _was_ uncomfortable. "But I didn't want to mention it," he added quickly.

"For shame, Elrohir, that you should feel compelled to remain uncomfortable in your own chamber."

"You wouldn't mind if I removed my tunic?"

"Of course not! After all, you have been so courteous as to permit me to dispense with my dress. It would be churlish of me to insist that you must keep on your tunic."

"That is very kind of you," exclaimed Elrohir, whose fingers flew down the front of his tunic. In a trice said garment had been discarded upon the floor.

The romantic duo resumed staring thoughtfully at the fire. After awhile, Elrohir squirmed a little bit and grimaced.

"Is there something wrong, Elrohir?" asked Malthenêl, her voice full of concern.

"It is such a trifle—I hesitate to mention it—but, but, well, my leggings are made of wool as well!"

"Oh, you poor dear! I have always thought that it must be dreadful to have to wear leggings. I mean, they must be so confining about the, about the, the—the body! Yes, the body!"

"Dreadfully confining! At times unbearably so! Why, there have been occasions when I have wished to, to, to—to simply rip them off and fling them aside!"

"Oh, Elrohir," cried Malthenêl, carried away by the emotion of the moment, "let this be one of those occasions! Cast aside the offending garment!"

"I will, Lady," ejaculated Elrohir, who immediately suited actions to words—although he then at once crossed his legs and put his hands in his lap. After a little while had passed, Elrohir cleared his throat.

"The only problem with dispensing with leggings is that the floor is rather hard on, on, one's parts," he observed ruefully.

Malthenêl looked about the room.

"None of your chairs are upholstered," she pointed out. "We had best go sit on the bed."

"Ah, yes, that would be a solution," said Elrohir gratefully.

The two arose and paced toward the bed. Malthenêl lost grip of her blanket when she stood up, but Elrohir graciously encircled her in his arms and thus protected her modesty from—well, actually, no one but he was in the room, but, to do him credit, he would have been protecting her modesty from someone if anyone had been there.

The two would-be lovers arrived at the bed and tried to gracefully crawl into the center. Even for an Elf, said maneuver can be somewhat difficult when one is naked—not to crawl into the center of a bed but to do so gracefully. However, they were near accomplishing the feat when something unexpected happened: the bottom fell out of their world.

Actually, to be more precise, the bottom fell out of the bed, and the headboard, footboard, and sideboards toppled inward. Malthenêl screamed, and Elrohir swore. The bed had quite folded itself up around them, and it took much flailing before they were able to crawl free of the frame. Meanwhile, the crash and the cries had drawn attention, and Elrond was pounding on the door, which, fortunately Elrohir had thought to lock behind them when they had entered the chamber.

"Elrohir," called Elrond. "Elrohir, whatever is the matter? Are you hurt?"

"No, Ada. There is nothing the matter."

"Then what was that crash? And why were you shouting? And who was screaming?"

"My bed collapsed, Ada. That's all."

"Your bed collapsed? Impossible! That bed is very sturdy. Whatever would have caused it to collapse?"

"Well, Ada, it _was_ a very old bed."

"Nonsense! You talk as if it were constructed in the First Age, whereas it dates only from the end of the Second. Now open up this door and let me see."

A long pause.

"Um, Ada, I am not alone in here."

"Ah," said Elrond grimly, "I thought that the screaming was rather high-pitched. You've got an elleth in there with you, haven't you?"

A very long pause. Elrohir knew that his father's eyebrows were now at full staff.

"Elrohir," Elrond resumed when the silence grew oppressive, "you left the Hall of Fire in company with Malthenêl, is that not so?"

"Yes, Ada."

"Glorfindel's niece."

"Yes, Ada."

"Lucky for you he is on patrol, else he would dismember you! And he still may once he finds out what you have been up to!"

Elrohir shuddered at the thought of losing any vital bits. "She will return to her own chamber straightaway," he called.

"See that she does," huffed Elrond, who stomped away, his footsteps resounding as loudly as if he were a Man.

Elrohir himself now proceeded to behave rather mannishly, for he fumbled over the buttons in a very unelvenly fashion as he helped Malthenêl back into her garments. Once all her fastenings were sorted out, he cautiously opened the door and looked up and down the hallway. No one was about. Quickly Elrohir and Malthenêl kissed, and then she slipped away to rejoin her age mates in their chamber, where they were eagerly awaiting her report. Ai! It would be more abbreviated than she would have wished!

Once Malthenêl had left, Elrohir turned his attention to the collapsed bed. It had been held together with wooden pegs, and it did not take Elrohir long to realize that the pegs had been removed. The bed had been carefully propped so that nothing looked amiss, but when sufficient pressure had been placed upon the frame, it had fallen to pieces. Elrohir hunted about a bit and found the pegs neatly lined up on the windowsill. Elrohir had already suspected and now he knew for a certainty that the person who had removed the pegs had both entered and exited through the window.

"I should have known," Elrohir said gloomily, "that any friend of Legolas would be as skilled as he at scaling walls. How could I have been so foolish as to think that a locked door would have been proof against a Mirkwood Elf!?"

At the breakfast table next morning Elrohir glowered at Tathar, but the carpenter was unabashed.

"You look a little tired this morning, Elrohir," he said with cheerfulness that Elrohir found very irksome. "Did you not sleep well?"

"I have passed better nights," growled Elrohir.

"Pity," said Tathar. "_I_ slept very well last night. I must say that Rivendell beds are very comfortable, and well-made, too, after the old fashion—sturdy lengths of oak held securely together by pegs. Under normal use, such beds are indestructible. But I am sure you know that, Elrohir," the Mirkwood Elf added, grinning impishly.

Elrond sensed that something was up, and he gazed inquiringly at Legolas. That Elf, however, hid his smile and fixed his attention upon the excellent repast that had been placed before him. Elrond caught Gilglîr's eye, but the Seneschal merely shrugged helplessly, as one who had given up the struggle to maintain order in the face of riotous youthfulness.

To be fair, it must be noted that Tathar, before he departed Rivendell with the other Mirkwood Elves, did put Elrohir's bed back together again. It was long, however, before Elrohir gave over crawling beneath the bed and inspecting it each night—and especially on those occasions when he had hopes that the frame would be sturdy enough to bear more than a single Elf! There is, however, no mention in the chronicles of his bed ever having again collapsed, so apparently his fears were groundless. Still, one cannot blame him for exercising caution. Had his bed been in the habit of folding up at inopportune moments, no doubt at last the ellith would have come to eschew his chamber, and for Elrohir, of all Elves, that would have been a most dreadful outcome! Happily, however, the ellith did not learn to avoid Elrohir's room, and, should I be spared to continue my research into the elven chronicles, be sure I shall try to narrate several other interludes of a romantic nature that involve said chamber.


	58. Matrimonial Meddling

**_Lady Eowyn Undomiel:_ Yes, there is more to the story. You will be glad to know that there is some, ahem, 'interaction' between Gandalf and Edwen Nana in this very chapter. As to your other requests—both a mischievous Arwen and a warrior Arwen—I will definitely consider writing stories that incorporate those elements!**

**_Dragonfly:_ Yes, Tathar has turned into quite a character in his own right. He certainly knew to hit Elrohir where it hurts, so to speak!**

**_Legosgurl_****: Thank you for adding me to your favorites list (author blushes self-consciously).**

**_Terreis_****: I'm with you. As I said to Dragonfly above, Tathar has turned into quite a character in his own right.**

_Andi__-Black:_ Those sticky buns make great weapons. Yes, Malthenrî and Rúmil will be quite a pair. I'll have to show them together in a future chapter or even in a separate story.

Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_

**Vocabulary**

**Caranlass—'Red Leaf', Círdan's niece**

**Chapter 58: Matrimonial Meddling**

Legolas had not thought it possible that he should be anxious to depart Imladris and ride on to the Grey Havens, but after several days of escorting Arwen in front of tittering masses of young Elves, the Mirkwood Elf wanted nothing more than to be away from that place. Now at last he was riding through the gates of Rivendell. The previous night, however, he had been vouchsafed a most surprising bit of news.

He and Arwen had gone for one last walk in the garden. As they stood before the fountain, Arwen had said, "Legolas, we must talk about marriage."

'Oh, no', Legolas thought in a panic. 'What shall I do! What shall I do!'

"I am sure you know," Arwen continued, "that the gossips would have it that you and I shall marry."

His tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth with embarrassment, Legolas could only nod.

"Of course, we both know the notion to be silly. We are brother and sister, you and I."

"Oh, yes, of course," Legolas said hastily and in great relief.

"Moreover, I have given my heart to another. I am betrothed, Legolas."

"Betrothed! To whom? Not Haldir, surely!"

Arwen laughed.

"Why is it that whenever an elleth is betrothed, the first question out of anyone's mouth is 'Not Haldir, surely!' The world badly underestimates the matrimonial potential of that poor ellon."

"So it is not Haldir?"

"No. It is Estel I hope to marry."

"Estel!"

"Does that surprise you?"

"Yes, but not because I find him wanting in any trait that would suit him to be your spouse. It is simply that I have never before thought on the matter: Aragorn—married!"

"But now that you do think on it, does the thought displease you?"

"No! no! You suit each other. He is a human, true, and you an Elf, but it is not unprecedented in your family for Man and Elf to espouse. But, Arwen, if you are espoused to Aragorn, why has Elrond not made it known? At the very least it would have saved _me_ a great deal of grief!"

Arwen smiled, but a little sadly.

"My father will not permit our betrothal to be formally announced."

"Why ever not? Elrond is very fond of your intended. After all, Aragorn is both his foster-son and his kinsman. Why would your father not want Aragorn's betrothal to you to be generally known?"

"My father is very fond of Aragorn, but no less fond of me! He will lose me if I marry Aragorn. Surely you must know that, Legolas."

Legolas was brought up short. Of course. By choosing a mortal as her husband, Arwen would be forfeiting her opportunity to depart with her father when the time came. She would never journey to the Undying Lands. With Aragorn, her dust would someday be mingled with that of Middle Earth.

"Elrond opposes the marriage, then," he said soberly.

"Not altogether," Arwen replied. "Say merely that he has placed conditions upon it. There are deeds that must be accomplished before any wedding can take place. Until then, the engagement is not to be bruited about—for one thing, it may be dangerous if attention were to be drawn to Aragorn. Some would ask, 'Who is this human who presumes to the hand of the daughter of Elrond of Imladris?' There are those who would kill for the answer to that question."

"You are right," Legolas agreed, "and you may depend upon my discretion. I will not mention this matter to anyone."

"Oh," said Arwen teasingly, "you may mention it to your father if you think it will help you bear up under his attempts at arranging a marriage for you."

Legolas laughed merrily.

"I thank you, Arwen. Yes, at least now my father will be forced to give over his hopes that you and I will become engaged. You may be sure that I take great comfort in that fact!"

Thinking of this conversation as he rode, Legolas smiled. One potential spouse removed from the marriage market, he thought cheerfully. Now it was only necessary to evade Círdan's niece in order for him to return to Mirkwood as matrimonially unencumbered as he had been at his departure. Perhaps, he thought hopefully, perhaps this niece would be the one destined to marry Haldir. _Someone_ had to do it!

Just then he drew up his horse, for the column had come to a halt. Gilglîr had been in the lead, and he cantered back to speak with Legolas.

"Legolas, a scout has sighted Man tracks, but more disturbingly, Orc tracks."

"So close to Imladris?" said Legolas, surprised. "And on the western side of the Misty Mountains?"

"It is unusual," Gilglîr agreed, "but the scout is one of my most experienced, and I do not doubt his word."

"How fresh are the Orc tracks?"

"Only a few hours old."

"How many?"

"Three."

Legolas pondered.

"Three Orcs would be no threat, but perhaps they are scouts. These three may be harbingers of greater numbers."

"We are still very close to Imladris. Should we turn back?"

Legolas shook his head.

"If we turned back every time we came across Orc spoor, we would never complete any journey. We must send back one rider to alert Elrond, but the rest of us shall proceed—cautiously, of course."

"And when have you ever known me to be other than cautious," retorted Gilglîr.

Legolas grinned.

"You have often taken my side against my father, the King of Northern Mirkwood. That does not bespeak caution!"

Gilglîr returned the prince's grin and then broached another subject.

"One other matter Legolas: Shouldn't we send Edwen Nana back with the rider? She is, after all, an elleth."

"Hah! Now you _are_ being incautious. Just you try sending back Edwen Nana—but only if you don't mind being beaten about the head and shoulders with your own sword!"

"True," Gilglîr conceded hastily. He had seen Edwen Nana in action often enough to agree that being beaten with his sword was all too likely a prospect should he cross the nursemaid. "Very well. I will send a messenger to Elrond to tell him of these tracks. I will instruct the others to be more than usually vigilant."

Slowly the company rode on, and soon more Orc tracks were spotted. Gilglîr's scout pronounced them to be the same three Orcs, and it soon became apparent that these goblins were repeatedly criss-crossing the trail in a seemingly random fashion.

"They appear to be meandering about," declared the Seneschal, perplexed. "I wonder what sort of creature they are tracking."

Legolas shook his head, equally bewildered.

"At least they are not tracking _us_—that is plain."

Just then they heard a rustle nearby.

"Perhaps I misspoke," hissed Legolas.

As one, every Elf drew and nocked an arrow. A stick was heard to break under a foot. A branch moved. All bows were draw taut and pointed toward that spot.

"Hold!" Legolas suddenly shouted, urging his horse forward and between the archers and their target. "Hold!"

Bows were instantly lowered.

"Mae govannen, Legolas," cried the erstwhile target. "Mae govannen."

"Mithrandir," exclaimed Legolas. "You are lucky not to have been turned into a pincushion. Are you mad, approaching an armed troop in that manner?"

"Oh, sorry. Careless of me, I suppose. But I am _so_ very weary. I have been trying to shake three Orcs for several days. I have dodged about this way and that, but can't seem to throw them off the scent. You don't suppose I could join your company, do you? I'm sure the Orcs would cease to trouble me if they saw that I was but one rider amongst a large company of armed Elves."

"Rider? I don't see your horse."

"I'm in the market, as it were," replied Gandalf. "But," he added slyly, "I am sure one of those pack horses would do very nicely."

"Yes, if we redistribute the load," Legolas laughed. "But don't you want to know where we are going?"

"Oh, yes, of course. Where are you going?"

"The Grey Havens."

Gandalf looked horrified, and Legolas laughed again. He was beginning to enjoy the reaction he got when he told people he was making for the Grey Havens.

"Don't worry, Mithrandir. I am not departing just yet. My father is sending me there because he hopes I will marry Círdan's niece, who has just come of age."

"Círdan's niece," spluttered Gandalf. "Nonsense! You won't be marrying Círdan's niece."

"I am glad to hear you say that, Mithrandir, and I trust you have it on good authority."

"Yes," huffed Gandalf. "Excellent authority. My own!"

"At any event, now you know where we are going, do you still wish to ride with us?"

"Now more than ever! I have to make sure you don't do anything foolish. I have met Círdan's niece, and she is beautiful and charming. I won't have her bewitching you!"

"You should talk, O Grey Wizard," teased Legolas.

"Yes, but _I_ am a professional," returned Gandalf, who was now smiling.

His smile grew even broader when he learned that Edwen Nana was in the company.

"Really?" he exclaimed, his eyes gleaming. "I have missed her, her, her—her skill with thread and needle! You don't suppose she could be prevailed upon to mend several rents in my garments?"

"I am sure," Legolas replied with a perfectly straight face, "that if you will take your garments off for her, she will be glad to attend to your needs."

"Scamp," growled Gandalf, but her looked about eagerly until he caught her eye, and they exchanged smiles.

The company rode on, still cautious, but they saw no further sign of Orcs, and after a time the Elves relaxed and began to sing and tell stories as they rode. For several days they journeyed in this manner. When they came to the Shire, they skirted the north of that land. Legolas espied Gandalf looking longingly in its direction.

"We cannot stop now, Mithrandir, for we must arrive at the Grey Havens in time for the coming of age celebration for Círdan's niece. But I promise you that on our return, when we are less pressed for time, we shall camp hereabouts for several days so that you have an opportunity to visit your Perian friends."

"Ah, I am much obliged, Legolas. It was for the Shire that I was making when I picked up my Orc followers. You may be sure I did not want to lead my foes _there_!"

A few days later the company rode into the Grey Havens and drew up before the abode of Círdan, who, as a dutiful host, awaited them. Beside Círdan stood an elleth—his niece, no doubt. Her appearance was striking. Aside from the usual attributes of an Elf—willowy frame, shapely limbs, flawless skin, ethereal face—she had red hair, a color rarely seen amongst Elves, whose tresses were usually either very blonde or very brown, even to the point of blackness. In fact, this elleth was only the second Elf Legolas had ever met who had red hair, the first being Tathar, of course. In fact, Legolas now glanced over at Tathar to see how his friend was reacting to the sight of a red-haired elleth, and he was amused to see that Tathar stood with his mouth hanging open. He caught Tathar's eye, and his friend abruptly closed his mouth, his face suffused with a red flush that was only a little lighter than the color of his hair.

Círdan stepped forward to formally welcome his guests.

"Mae govannen, Legolas Thranduilion, prince of Northern Mirkwood."

"I thank you, Lord Círdan, Master of the Grey Havens. May I present to you Gilglîr, Seneschal to King Thranduil of Northern Mirkwood, Lord Tathar, chief amongst my advisors, and Edwen Nana, first amongst Naneth. We are accompanied also, as you see, by Master Mithrandir, high amongst the ranks of the Istar who serve Middle-earth."

Legolas had never referred to Tathar as a 'Lord', and that Elf, whose face had resumed its former color, now blushed anew.

Círdan solemnly acknowledged each guest with a bow and then introduced the elleth who accompanied him.

"I would like to present to you my niece, Caranlass, who has been visiting with me these past several months."

'Red leaf', thought Legolas, amused. Truly the name suited the red-haired elleth. He offered his arm to the maiden, as was expected, and followed Círdan into the hall.

For the remainder of the day, Legolas exchanged pleasantries with Círdan and Caranlass. The other members of his party were meanwhile suitably housed—Legolas made sure to ask that Gandalf and Edwen Nana be placed in adjacent chambers.

"Edwen Nana always likes to have someone to look after," he told Círdan, "and Mithrandir doesn't mind humoring her."

"How noble of him," Círdan said dryly. It seems that rumors of Edwen Nana and Gandalf had been carried to the Grey Havens by departing Elves. But Círdan did order that Edwen Nana and Gandalf be so accommodated.

That evening the company was reunited for dinner. Throughout the meal, Tathar ate little. He kept craning his neck about to gaze upon Caranlass. For her part, she seemed to be similarly afflicted, pushing at her food with a silver spoon and glancing repeatedly toward the end of the table where Tathar sat. No doubt she, like Tathar, had never before seen any red-haired Elf besides herself.

After the meal, when they had a few moments alone, Legolas decided to feel out Tathar on the subject of the red-haired elleth.

"What did you think of Caranlass?" asked Legolas in the most neutral voice he could muster.

"Charming," enthused Tathar, "absolutely charming!"

Legolas fought hard to keep from grinning. Was it possible, he thought, that Tathar would somehow contrive to remove a certain young elleth from the 'eligible' column of his father's list of matrimonial prospects? He certainly hoped so!

Edwen Nana also was not slow to notice the interest that the young elleth had for the young ellon, and vice versa. She of course wanted Legolas to be well-married, but she had equally compelling reasons for wishing happiness upon Tathar. She thus found herself bewildered—eager to play matchmaker, but unsure which match she ought to forward. In her quandary, she sought out Gandalf—although she did not have far to go.

"Mithrandir," she said one night. "Have you noticed that Tathar keeps staring at Caranlass, and Caranlass keeps gazing back at him?"

Gandalf had his face buried in the pillow, and all Edwen Nana could make out in reply was, "Mmmph." She yanked the pillow out from under his head.

"Madam," cried Gandalf, "are you never satisfied?"

"As I am immortal," retorted Edwen Nana, "I don't see how I ever shall be—but that goes for you, too, I assume."

"You'll be sorry if you rouse my ire."

"I only want to briefly rouse your tongue."

"Really! You've never wanted that before!"

"I said _rouse_ your tongue, not _a_rouse your tongue. You are not a very cunning linguist."

"That's for want of practice, not desire," grumbled Gandalf. "Well, what have you woken me up for?"

"Tathar and Caranlass."

"Oh? What troubles you about the Willow and the Red-leaf?"

"Haven't you noticed how they gaze one upon the other?"

"I have."

"Don't you find that to be interesting?"

"Not especially. It is the nature of ellyn to gaze upon ellith, and vice versa."

"Yes, and such looks of longing sometimes lead to marriage."

"Have you some reason to believe that in this case it will?"

"No-oo, but don't you think a marriage in this instance would be a desirable outcome?"

"Sleep would be a desirable outcome," growled Gandalf.

"Oh, yes, of course, sleep. Tathar sleeping with Caranlass."

"Then he won't get much sleep, will he!"

"I should hope not!"

Gandalf groaned.

"Madam, what exactly is it that you want of me?"

"At the moment? Advice."

Gandalf sat up.

"It seems I shall get no sleep myself until I have satisfied you."

"First of all," said Edwen Nana briskly, now that she had Gandalf's full attention, "if Tathar were to marry Caranlass, then Caranlass couldn't marry Legolas. Perhaps we ought to discourage Tathar so that the field is clear for Legolas."

"Tell me, Edwen Nana, has Legolas been staring at Caranlass?"

"No."

"Has Caranlass been staring at Legolas?"

"No."

"So we have one pair of Elves that is staring ardently, and another pair that is staring not at all. Edwen Nana, I think there is little likelihood of Legolas marrying Caranlass, regardless of the wishes of his father."

"Then there would be no harm in encouraging Tathar and Caranlass?"

"Do they need encouragement? I had thought that in such cases encouragement would be redundant."

"True, in most instances, but remember that Tathar knows that Thranduil wishes Legolas to marry Caranlass. He is not likely to put himself forward."

"Hmmm. Very well. Does not Tathar spend considerable time each day in the garden?"

"Yes. That is how he occupies himself whilst Legolas squires Caranlass about."

"Next time ever Tathar is in the garden, you make sure that Legolas escorts Caranlass there. I'll take care of the rest—or, rather, Tathar will take care of the rest once I make sure that he has an opportunity to do so."

"Ah, hannon-le, Mithrandir!"

"Don't mention it. Are you satisfied now, Madam?"

"Not entirely," murmured Edwen Nana, a familiar spark kindled in her eye. She pushed Gandalf back down upon the bed. Gandalf pretended to groan, but in truth, a similar spark had flared in his own eyes. Ai! At this point in the tale, the chronicles fall silent, and thus, Reader, so must I.

**Mwah**** hah hah.**** I am _sooo_ evil.**


	59. Crafting a Marriage

**Folks, those who are waiting for an update to "Number Nine," I've got a chapter almost ready for _Dragonfly_ to beta.**

**_Grumpy:_ Yes, Gandalf and Edwen Nana can be pretty funny together, although I don't want to squick anyone by getting too descriptive about how they spend their time together.**

**_The essence of popsicles:_ Hmm. Would it be o.k. if I used that "harried to be married" phrase in a future chapter? Yes, at some point there will be another chapter with Tawarmaenas.**

**_Legosgurl_****: Hope you have recovered from your celebration of the New Year. I gather that if you engaged in a drinking competition with Legolas, you would lose! About action: This chapter and the next won't be action chapters, but there will be one coming up fairly soon. I have some Orcs waiting for our Elves when they try to cross the Misty Mountains on their return to Mirkwood. I look forward to seeing your fic—but please tell me that it is not typed in caps! Hurts my eyes a little bit when there are a lot of caps! Hope you get your keyboard fixed soon! Take care.**

**_Andi_****_-Black:_ Yes, sometimes silence _is_ golden. **

**_Dragonfly:_ Well, if you were Legolas, wouldn't _you_ be paranoid by now!? As for Thranduil, if he reacts as he typically does, he'll splutter a little and then shrug his shoulders. No doubt Gilglîr will carefully prepare him for the news.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_.**

Chapter 59: Crafting a Marriage

The morning after her conversation with Gandalf, Edwen Nana sought out Legolas as he was dressing in his chamber. As she had never quite given over superintending this aspect of his life, he was not the least disconcerted when she entered his chamber, _sans_ knocking, as he was pulling on his leggings.

"Good morning, Edwen Nana," he said cheerfully, adding slyly, "I trust you passed a pleasurable night."

"Very pleasurable indeed," she replied, quite untroubled by his meaningful glance. "I must say that the sleeping accommodations have been excellent, and I am sure that I shall pass several more such nights before we depart."

"I am glad to hear it," said Legolas. "I would not have any of your needs neglected."

"No, no more than you should neglect any of the needs of the Lady Caranlass."

"Nana!"

"I only meant," said Nana levelly, "that you ought to entertain her properly."

Legolas still looked at her suspiciously. "What do you mean by 'entertain' her?"

"Silly lad," she said fondly. "I merely mean that you should not bore her. Even if you don't intend to marry her, you ought to be thoughtful and considerate—as you should be to all and sundry."

"Oh, is that all you meant," said Legolas, relieved. "I assure you that I have been very polite and attentive."

"A polite and attentive escort can still be a boring one," Edwen Nana pointed out. "How have you been passing your time?"

"I believe that we have visited all the principle buildings in the Grey Havens. To be honest," Legolas admitted, "I am at a loss as to what we should do next."

"Have you explored the garden? I understand it is very beautiful."

"No," said Legolas, brightening. "No, we have not yet explored that place."

"The weather is exceptionally fine today. Perhaps this would be a good day to do so."

"Yes, Edwen Nana. I believe you are right. Directly after breakfast I shall ask her if she would be pleased to walk in the garden."

"There's a good lad," Edwen Nana said encouragingly. Then she took her leave and hurried off in search of Gandalf. "Excellent," said that wizard when she told him that Legolas and Caranlass would be in the garden that morning. "I am convinced almost to a certainty that Tathar will be in the garden this morning as well."

Tathar was intrigued by the ornate architecture of the Grey Havens, which exceeded anything to be found in Mirkwood, and he had resolved to incorporate some of its features into the Great Hall upon his return. It was for this reason that he was spending so much time in the garden: that place afforded him a good view of many of the buildings that most interested him. On a bench in the middle of the garden, he sat for hours, whittling small models of the structural elements he meant to copy. He preferred such three-dimensional models to the sketches that he could have drawn.

When Legolas and Caranlass entered the garden, Tathar was carving a model of a pillar. He arose and bowed to the couple, and then resumed his seat to continue working on the tiny replica. Legolas and Caranlass returned his bow and then began to wander up and down the pathways, exclaiming over the various flora. It truly was a marvelous place.

After they had wandered for a little while, Gandalf suddenly hastened into the garden.

"I am sorry to disturb you in your enjoyment of this enchanting refuge," the wizard said apologetically, "but I have need of Legolas. It is a rather urgent matter of state, I am afraid."

Legolas turned to Caranlass.

"My Lady, I beg your pardon. I do not wish to neglect you, but it seems I am wanted."

"Of course, Prince Legolas. I shall be quite content to remain in this garden."

"Thank you, my Lady."

Gandalf and Legolas both bowed, and together they took their leave.

Left to her own devices, Caranlass was indeed perfectly content. She had no more interest in marrying Legolas than he had in marrying her, but, like him, she had been acting in obedience to her elders. She drifted from flower bush to flower bush, watching with pleasure the bees that swarmed over the petals. At last her wandering steps brought her near to Tathar. As he glanced up to study the column that he was copying, he found her standing before him.

"I am sorry," she said, stepping aside. "I did not mean to mar your view."

"Nay, Lady, you do not detract from the view—far from it!"

She came to stand by his side and peered down at the piece of shaped wood he held in his hand.

"How well you carve!"

"I should hope so! I am, after all, by trade a carpenter."

"A carpenter?"

"Yes."

"The Prince is accompanied by his own carpenter? How very curious! Does he have you build furniture upon your arrival at each campsite?"

Tathar laughed.

"I do not travel with him because of my skill at woodworking. I am numbered amongst his advisors."

"Then why do you not say, 'I am the Lord Tathar, advisor to Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Northern Mirkwood'? Is that not how Legolas styled you? Why do you instead give yourself the name of a carpenter?"

"I was first of all a carpenter, and I still think of myself as one. Happens I have a knack for designing fortifications as well as dwellings, and for building alliances as well as tables. So it came to pass that one day I found myself seated upon a chair that I had but lately crafted for the King's Council Chamber. Now, whenever I beg leave to return to my workshop, the King takes pleasure in saying, 'Tathar, you have made your own chair, now you must sit down upon it'."

Caranlass giggled.

"I think I would like this King. He has a sense of humor, and he recognizes the worth of a subject even if that subject's origins be humble."

"He is deserving of such praise. He is a fine King—a fine father, too. I hope that someday you shall have an opportunity to meet him."

"At present there is no occasion for me to travel to his realm—but I shall hope to soon have cause to do so."

"If I could in some way help you fulfill that desire, I would."

"Oh, I think that you could find a way," Caranlass said archly.

"I shall study upon it, Lady, and apply all my wit and skill to that endeavor."

The next day Caranlass again came to the garden. This time she found Tathar carving not a building model but a utensil—an ornately decorated spoon. Intricately interlaced tendrils curved their way up the handle, which was surmounted by the figure of a bird. As Caranlass exclaimed over it, Tathar explained that the bird was a redpoll.

"When I was little, Edwen Nana nicknamed me 'redpoll', on account of my hair. So I often use a carving of a redpoll as a sort of signature."

"Oh, yes, that is the perfect signature," enthused Caranlass.

"Do you like the spoon very much?"

"Truly, I do."

"Then I beg of you to accept it of me."

"It is too fine a gift," protested Caranlass, as was required by etiquette.

"It is but a trifle. Indeed, now I look upon it, I am ashamed. Tomorrow I shall make you something much finer to go along with it."

"I pray you, do not trouble yourself," declared Caranlass, although she was exceedingly anxious to see what he would carve next and reasonably sure that he would not be put off by her protests.

That evening Caranlass brought her spoon to the table with her and, putting aside the silver utensils laid by her plate, she used only the wooden one. Círdan took notice.

"Niece, that is a curious spoon you have there. Whence came it?"

"Tathar carved it for me. Is it not beautiful?"

Círdan took the spoon and turned it over and over in his hand.

"It is indeed a lovely piece of work. The design is a clever one, and it is carved with great skill."

He returned the spoon to her and said no more.

The next day Caranlass returned to the garden, where she found Tathar carving a bowl from the burl of a tree. Following the natural contours of the wood, he contrived to make it look as if it were a bird's nest with birds perched upon the rim.

That evening Caranlass arrived at the table bearing the bowl. Again Círdan examined it closely, and again he pronounced the work good.

The day after that, Caranlass brought to the table a lovely trencher, and the day after that a wooden goblet. The next day a lovely chair was awaiting her when she came to the table. The next morning Círdan sent for Tathar.

"You seem to be quite a handy carpenter," Círdan commenced.

"Thank you, my Lord."

"Thus far you have furnished Caranlass with a spoon, a bowl, a trencher, a goblet, and a chair. Can you craft a bedstead as well?"

"I have devised many."

"And a cradle?"

"That too."

"Tables and benches? Chests and wardrobes?"

"There is not one item of furniture that I have not crafted. Each has been both useful and beautiful."

"Can you build a dwelling that would be fittingly furnished with such objects of beauty and utility?"

"I have built sturdy and pleasant homes for many a family."

"And would you now construct and furnish one for yourself and a spouse?"

"I would."

"All that is needful, seemingly," said Círdan dryly, "is said spouse."

"I had hoped you might assist me in finding one who would appreciate my gifts."

"If it is within my power," promised Círdan, "I shall. I will at once make inquiries on the matter."

After dinner that evening Círdan walked with his niece in the garden.

"You have lately spent much time in the garden, niece."

"I have," Caranlass said demurely, her eyes downcast.

"Do you find the flowers such amiable company?"

"I have of course always enjoyed the presence of flowers, but they are not the only attraction to be found in a garden."

"No? And what else do you find so appealing?"

"The birds. I love birds."

"Any particular birds, niece?"

"I love all birds, but there is one in particular that I have grown exceedingly fond of."

"Indeed? And what bird would that be?"

"The redpoll."

"Ah, I see. But the redpoll is not native to these parts. The redpoll visits, but then he returns to his home territory. Do you love this redpoll so much that you would fly after him?"

"Yes, uncle, I do," Caranlass replied fervently.

"Then I shall not be the one to clip your wings. But your mother and father did not entrust you to me in hopes that I would arrange your marriage to a carpenter! I must send them a letter, and they may not be happy at the news."

"I think you may be wrong, uncle. They will be very glad to know that I am to be espoused to the future Seneschal of Eryn Lasgalen."

"How do you know that he will be Seneschal, niece?"

"Have you not observed Gilglîr? At all gatherings he keeps Tathar near to hand and is forever explaining this and that to him, as if Tathar were his apprentice."

"You are shrewd, niece—and that is an exceedingly valuable trait for one desirous of being the spouse of a Seneschal. In fact, Gilglîr has mentioned to me his desire to depart these lands someday, and he did say that he was training Tathar to take his place. Very well. I shall write your parents straightaway. They shall be happy, you and Tathar shall be happy, and Legolas will be ecstatic. The only one who will not be pleased by the news is Thranduil. His letter to me was quite insistent on the subject. Arrange a marriage for Legolas, he begged me, for he fears that if the Prince is not bound by a spouse he will be forever roaming."

"If Legolas is forced to pledge troth to an elleth for whom he feels no love, the espousal itself will be no bar to his roaming. A warrior can always find a reason to absent himself from his hearth."

"Indeed, my niece, you _are_ shrewd! Tathar does well in choosing you, and you do well in choosing him."

The next morning Círdan dispatched a letter to Caranlass' parents informing them that she wished to espouse Lord Tathar, deputy to the seneschal of Northern Mirkwood and protégé of Prince Legolas Thranduilion, and that Lord Tathar was equally desirous of marrying her. "I assure you,' Círdan wrote, "that the Lord Tathar can furnish your daughter Caranlass with all that is needful for a most comfortable and pleasant household." He neglected to mention, though, that many of the things that were needful were likely to be crafted by Tathar himself. Círdan felt, however, that this was an unnecessary detail.

A reply conveying approval swiftly arrived, with the promise that the parents would soon follow to attend the espousal ceremony itself. The Elves of the Grey Havens threw themselves into preparations for the festivities, assisted, I might add, by a very enthusiastic Edwen Nana.

"A wedding! I love a wedding!" she enthused. (It should be mentioned that this would have been her sentiment had Caranlass married either Tathar or Legolas. A wedding was wanted; a wedding would take place. And Edwen Nana, superintending domestic arrangements, was in her element.)

Legolas was of course no less thrilled than Edwen Nana. He was happy for Tathar because his friend would be marrying Caranlass. He was happy for himself because he would _not_ be marrying said elleth. Not that he had any objections to the maiden—he simply wasn't in love with her. This may have been a minor detail to Thranduil, but to Legolas it was anything but minor! Legolas was therefore amongst the first to congratulate Tathar.

"You are going to be very, very happy, Tathar," he said to his friend. "I do believe that you and Caranlass were destined for each another."

"Thank you," Tathar said blissfully. "I am a little anxious, however," he added a trifle nervously, "lest I do not make a good impression on her parents. I have brought with me no fine clothes for an occasion such as this."

"You and I are of a size," said Legolas. "You can wear something of mine."

"Indeed, yes!" Edwen Nana interjected. "There is that silk tunic of forest green with the gold embroidery. It would be just the thing, for it would do very well at bringing out the color of Tathar's hair. And, Tathar, do be sure to wear a matching gold diadem with it, not a silver one. Legolas, you have brought one with you, haven't you?"

Legolas winked at Tathar but otherwise kept his face straight.

"I have, Nana. I will fetch it at once."

With Edwen Nana superintending his wardrobe, Tathar put on a stunning appearance when he came forward to greet Caranlass' parents. They were clearly dazzled by the red-haired lord who dressed and spoke and behaved so elegantly. Indeed, they hardly paid any notice to Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Northern Mirkwood, who stood nearby. Oh, they greeted him properly enough, but then they only had eyes for their soon-to-be son-in-law. To Legolas, this state of affairs was a delightful one.

'I need to marry off more of my friends', he grinned to himself. 'It is a marvelous device for diverting attention away from me!'

Gandalf enjoyed the spectacle as well.

'There now', he said to himself with satisfaction, 'I have done my part to keep Legolas unencumbered for the time being. His freedom of action will not be compromised—at least not in the near future. And as I am sure I shall soon have great need of him, that is all to the good'.

And so this part of the story ends with all satisfied with the turn that events had taken—save Thranduil, of course, but as he had not yet received the news, at the moment his thoughts do not signify. You may be certain, however, that he will have an opportunity to express his opinion in a later chapter!


	60. Herd Mentality

**_Yarrie:_ Eeep! Terrified writer scuttles toward computer, pursued by Orc disguised as fanfiction fan 'Yarrie'.**

**_Nathalia Potter:_ Ah, you are on the mathematical chapter. Maybe I should do another one of those. Or maybe I could work through Erestor's entire curriculum: science, history, philosophy, etc. Actually, I guess I've covered science in 'Got Milk'. After all, the topic of reproduction can be considered to be biology.**

**_Joee:_ Hmm. We haven't seen Thranduil in a while. Maybe it's time for a 'meanwhile back at the ranch' chapter. About Haldir: I should show him trying to woo an elleth! About Glorfindel: He hasn't found out yet, but I should create a chapter (or a separate story) in which he does! About Legolas and the pictures of him _sans_ clothes. Yes, I _must_ do a side story in which he comes across one of those! The potential for satire and humor is just too much to forgo.**

**_Terreis:_ Codeine, eh? Maybe you should try some of Gandalf's mushrooms! Yes, they will head back to Imladris, so more adventures with Elrohir and Elladan coming up. Hopefully, however, no more beds will collapse! Oh, yes: I'm sure you do look forward to Thranduil's reaction _much_ more than Legolas does! Ah, you caught the reference to the _Pirates of the Caribbean_ (author beams).**

**_Legosgurl:_ Yes, Thranduil's face will be a study when he hears the news.**

Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_.

**Chapter 60: Herd Mentality**

The festivities had concluded, Caranlass' parents had made their farewells and departed for their homeland, and the Mirkwood Elves had begun to think of doing likewise.

"I have very much enjoyed my stay here," said Legolas to Círdan—quite truthfully, by the way, for, as soon as he was sure that it was Tathar who was to be married, Legolas had been able to relax and fully appreciate the beauty of his surroundings.

"You have very much enjoyed your stay here, _but_," said Círdan, smiling.

"_But_," continued Legolas, smiling as well, "I think it is time that my companions and I make the return journey to Mirkwood. For one thing, if we delay much longer, the weather will turn. I do not wish to cross the Misty Mountains in foul weather; nor do I wish to travel all the way to the Gap of Rohan, as we shall have to do if the Misty Mountains become particularly nasty, as they are wont to do on occasion."

"So I have heard," said Círdan. "I have never crossed those peaks myself during foul weather, but Mithrandir has been regaling me with tales of malevolent mountains. He tells me that Caradhras in particular is a real piece of work."

"That peak does have a reputation," agreed Legolas, "but I hope we will be able to avoid it and cross via a pass well to the north."

Mithrandir was of course pleased when Legolas told him that they would soon be departing the Grey Havens. The wizard had originally been making for the Shire, and he reminded Legolas of his promise that the company would bivouac on the border of that land so that he could visit it.

"It is past time for me to make a visit to Hobbiton," he declared. "I need to see how a friend of mine and his young kinsman have been getting on."

"You mean Bilbo, do you not, and his nephew—I disremember his name—Fredo was it?"

"Fr_o_do. I did not know that you ever met him."

"Oh, I didn't, but Bilbo spoke of him. The young Perian was off birds-nesting with someone—the grandson of the gardener, I think."

"Yes, that would be Sam. I believe that someday Samwise Gamgee will be as invaluable to Frodo as Tathar is to you—just as loyal and steadfast. He is turning into a fair cook, too—although I do wish he would have a lighter hand when it comes to the salt! Hobbits and Dwarves share in common a belief that near any dish can be improved by a pinch of the stuff, and both peoples are inordinately fond of salted pork and corned beef. If I drink immoderate amounts of beer whilst in their company, that is the reason!"

"Ah, so it's two bad habits you have picked up from mortals—not only do you indulge in pipe weed, but you swill beer."

"Bad habits? Certainly not! They are both of them enjoyable pastimes."

"Enjoyable? You did not look as if you were enjoying yourself the other day in that drenching rainstorm. I saw you out there, shivering with cold because Círdan would not let you smoke within. You looked like a half-drowned Dwarf, hunched over, your clothes and beard soggy, rivulets of water running off the brim of your hat!"

"Well," huffed Gandalf, "the problem wasn't the pipeweed—it was Círdan! Even Elrond would have had pity upon me and allowed me to enter the Hall."

"Elrond has a very poor opinion of pipe weed, and you know it."

"Given that Beren is numbered amongst his ancestors, you'd think Elrond would demonstrate more toleration for the foibles of mortals."

"But you are no mortal, and so have no claim upon his forbearance."

"Do I look like an Elf?" Gandalf replied acerbically.

"No good, Mithrandir. Regardless of how you look, you are no mortal."

"More's the pity," sighed Gandalf. Legolas was surprised.

"If you were mortal you would die. Surely you would not wish for such an end!"

"Assuming that it _is_ an end, which I am not at all certain is the case. But consider, Legolas: knowing that they shall die, many are the Men who live their lives over the space of a few years with a depth of feeling greater than that experienced by an Elf over the course of many centuries. You may say that immortality is the Gift of the Valar; I may say with equal reason that it is death that is the Gift."

"I suppose there is some sense in what you say," said Legolas slowly.

"Some _sense_! _Some_ sense! Thank you very much," the wizard continued dryly, "for your overwhelming endorsement of my logic. You'd best remember, you young puppy, that _I_ am a Maia."

"Pull rank, will you?" teased Legolas. "Aren't you the one who just a moment ago was so eager to claim kinship with humans?"

"That does not mean," Gandalf replied, unperturbed, "that I relinquish my claim to any of the perquisites of an Istar."

"What is it that Men say, Mithrandir? Ah, yes: you want to have your cake and eat it too!"

The bantering between wizard and elf was interrupted by the arrival of Gilglîr, who had been seeing to the arrangements for their departure.

"Mithrandir, pardon me for interrupting your conversation with Legolas, but I have news to report. It seems that during the night our horses decided to set off on the return journey _sans_ their riders."

Anomen and Gandalf exchanged perplexed glances. Elven horses had been known to depart a place on their own initiative, but only when danger threatened. Moreover, when they did so, they were careful to bear their riders away with them. Legolas well remembered the time when his horse had suddenly broken into a gallop and pounded across a plain, Legolas swearing the while because the horse was carrying him in the wrong direction—or at least he _thought_ the horse was carrying him in the wrong direction. When the horse finally drew up and Legolas was able to look back, his elven eyes could just make out a pack of wargs, their tongues lolling as they stood gazing forlornly after the breakfast that had so inexplicably gotten up and walked off the plate.

"I have never heard of the Grey Havens being assailed," said Gandalf. "Surely they could not have sensed an approaching threat."

"Yet if there is no danger, why did they depart?" mused Legolas. "On the other hand, if there _is_ danger, why did they leave without us!?"

"It is strange," agreed Gilglîr.

"What of Círdan's horses," asked Gandalf. "Have they fled as well?" Círdan kept only a few horses at the Havens, having little need of them, but the steeds that did dwell there had appeared to be as intelligent and spirited as any in Elrond's herd.

Gilglîr shook his head.

"That's another thing that's odd. Círdan's horses remain in the paddock and seem untroubled."

"You would think," said Legolas, "that if our horses sensed danger, so, too would Círdan's. They are descended of the same stock, after all."

"Ah, but they have led sheltered lives," opined Gilglîr. "Perhaps they can no longer recognize the approach of danger as easily as our own horses, who have faced many perils."

"Even if they failed to sense danger, wouldn't our horses have explained matters to them?" said Legolas. "I find it hard to imagine that our horses would be so selfish as to leave them behind."

"They left _us_ behind," Gilglîr pointed out.

"Oh, yes, that's true. I had forgotten," Legolas said lamely.

"Mayhap danger does not approach," suggested Gandalf. "Or, if it approaches, it is no threat to the Havens but only to us. That would explain why Círdan's horses remain."

"True," said Legolas, "but it doesn't explain why _we_ still remain."

"Perhaps that's the point," said Gilglîr suddenly. "Perhaps the horses are trying to tell us that we should _not_ remain. We were going to linger for a few more days. Let us depart at once. It will require only a little more in the way of packing. Indeed, we could be off in an hour's time."

"On foot?" said Legolas.

"Have your legs ceased to function, O Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Northern Mirkwood?" teased Gilglîr. "Mayhap it is the weight of that diadem. Remove it, and no doubt mobility will return to your limbs."

"I was thinking of the fact that we have no packhorses. I would not want to ask Círdan to spare any of his horses, for he has so few."

Gilglîr shrugged.

"Packhorses? We need no packhorses. We have our own sturdy shoulders. Moreover, we need walk no further than Imladris, for surely Elrond will loan us horses for the journey to Lothlórien, from whence we may return his horses and continue on mounts borrowed from the Galadhrim."

"I might also point out," Gandalf interjected, "that the company will have the opportunity to rest their weary legs whilst I spend time in the Shire. I trust that this development will not force me to forgo that promised visit," he added wistfully.

Both Legolas and Gilglîr laughed in amusement, so plain was the wizard's longing for his beloved Shire.

"I swear to you that we shall deliver you safely to its borders," promised Legolas. "Gilglîr," he said, turning to the seneschal, "please inform our companions that we depart within the hour."

Gilglîr bowed slightly and hurried off to convey the order. The command presented no difficulty to anyone save the newlyweds.

"We could not possibly bear these gifts upon our backs," said Caranlass, surveying the garments, the utensils, the musical instruments, and the books that had been proffered in honor of their nuptials. "We shall have to leave them behind."

"Perhaps we can send for them later," suggested Tathar.

Edwen Nana was bustling about the room and said nothing. After a bit, she vanished. Shortly thereafter, a knock was heard.

"Enter," called Tathar. In came a scout. He picked up a flute.

"I'm all packed, and with a little room to spare. I'll carry this for you, if you like."

"We thank you," Tathar said gratefully.

The scout vanished but was almost immediately replaced by another, who picked up a book.

"I'm all packed, and with a little room to spare. I'll carry this for you, if you like."

"We thank you," laughed Caranlass.

A third scout arrived shortly thereafter and picked up a set of ladles.

"Let me guess," chuckled Tathar. "You're all packed, and with a little room to spare. You'll carry that for us, if we like."

"Yes," grinned the scout.

Caranlass went to the door and peered out into the hall. She giggled. Shepherded by Edwen Nana, a line of Elves stood there cheerfully, each waiting to add a wedding gift to his pack. In short order, all the gifts had been distributed amongst them. In the end, Tathar and Caranlass were even able to bring away the chair that Tathar had carved for Caranlass whilst he was wooing her. By attaching straps to it, he very cleverly transformed it into a pack frame and bore it on his back. Indeed, so well did this contrivance distribute the weight of his other burdens, that several Elves later asked him to build them similar frames.

By noon, the Mirkwood Elves were ready to depart. They dined briefly with Círdan's household and then shouldered their packs and set off.

The day was a fine one, and so welcoming did the world appear that Legolas had difficulty imagining that there could be any peril in it.

'Perhaps', he said to himself, 'it was merely a freak occurrence, this sudden flight on the part of the horses. There may be nothing to it after all'.

Thus reassuring himself, he marched steadily onward with his belovéd companions.


	61. After The Deluge

**_Terreis_****: Yes, I do plan to have at least one character visit the Shire in an upcoming chapter. Gandalf will definitely go, of course, and I'm trying to decide whether to send Legolas along as well. The problem is that I can't let Frodo meet him because Frodo apparently has never seen Legolas before the Council of Elrond. Last time Legolas visited the Shire, Frodo was away, conveniently enough, and it would seem a bit much if he just happened to be away on Legolas' return visit. So I'm rather inclined not to let Legolas go and instead to provide him with some other adventure while he's waiting for Gandalf to rejoin the company.**

**_Legosgurl_****: Congratulations on getting your keyboard fixed. Of course, now that it's fixed, you will have to write and post your story! I am not sure you received my reply to your last e-mail, in which I said that, yes, I would be glad to read and comment on your story. I did set one condition: you have to promise not to take any suggestions or corrections personally! Some writers seem to view critiques as personal attacks and become defensive. (I can understand why, though. If you really get involved in what you are writing and invest a lot of yourself in it, well, naturally, you may take umbrage if you think someone doesn't properly appreciate your efforts.) **

**_Andi_****_-Black:_ Of _course_ something is going to happen. Mwah hah hah.**

**_Joee:_**** I don't think I'd like to live forever. I really like the intensity of a mortal life, and I don't think it could be sustained for an infinite period of time. That's an oxymoron, isn't it: 'infinite period'?**

**_Dragonfly:_ Yes, Edwen Nana has her own special brand of creativity.**

**_Yarrie_****: I'll update! I'll update! I don't want to be chased all the way back to my computer by an irate reader.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_.**

**Chapter 61: After the Deluge**

Círdan's realm, Mithlond, was called in the common speech the Grey Havens because it consisted of not one but two settlements, one on the east bank of the River Lhûn, the other on the west. Legolas and his companions had been staying on the west bank. To return to Rivendell, it was thus necessary for them to cross the river, which was very wide at Mithlond itself, situated as it was at the point where the channel entered the Gulf of Lune. Normally Círdan's folk would have ferried them across, but on that day, a strong breeze was blowing east off the Gulf so that the waters were rough and the swells covered with whitecaps. There was, however, a ford. It was considerably to the north of Mithlond and thus, ultimately, of Rivendell, but this did not trouble the travelers in the least, for they had already been planning to follow a track that would cause them to pass to the north of the Shire. They did not wish to enter the land of the Periannath but instead intended to bivouac on its border whilst Gandalf went about his business. Elves did enter the Shire from time to time, but rarely in such large numbers, and Legolas preferred not to draw attention to their presence.

The Elves also planned to avoid Bree-land. Instead, even once past the Shire, they would keep almost entirely to a northern route, one that would take them just below the Emyn Uial or Hills of Evendim—the Twilight Hills Men called them in Common Speech. They would also pass just south of the North Downs. The Weather Hills, however, they would pass to the north, for they had no desire to draw near to the Midgewater Marshes! Once past the Weather Hills, they would descend at last to the Great East Road.

In spite of the fact that they lacked horses, the company was merry enough at the outset. They had packed carefully, so that their supplies had been well and fairly distributed, and no one suffered from his burden. Moreover, they were walking at a comfortable pace. Even if they had been mounted, they would have journeyed only a little faster, for it had never been their intention to push themselves.

Shortly after crossing the River Lhûn, however, they began to march more rapidly than they had initially planned. They came upon the tracks of the horses, and it was easy to see that their steeds had only passed that way recently.

"If we go only a little faster," suggested Legolas, "mayhap we will be able to catch up with them."

Yet no matter how quickly they marched, and for all the acuity of the Elves' vision, the horses stayed just out of sight.

"They are staying out of reach, but only barely. It is almost as if they mean to tantalize us by their nearness," said Legolas thoughtfully.

"I think you are right," agreed Gilglîr. "The horses want us to journey on as quickly as ever we may, and this is their way of drawing us forward. You must admit that at this point we are scarcely traveling any slower than we would have if we had been mounted! Indeed, I believe we are making faster time, for we have not been dawdling over lengthy breaks for meals!"

Gilglîr was right. By the end of the first day of their journey, they had in fact covered more ground than they would have if they had been horsed and traveling at leisure.

The second day of their journey, when the travelers arose they saw heavy grey clouds roiling the skies to the north. Within the clouds they could make out mighty bolts of lightning.

"Yonder a great storm beats down upon Arda," said Gilglîr. "Let us hope that it remains to our north."

That second day, mindful of the storm, the company moved even faster than the day before. Once again, they could have traveled no faster had they been mounted. Quickly they reached the foothills of the Emyn Uial. From then on, they would have to cross several streams that flowed from the Nenuial, the mighty lake that was nestled in those foothills. To their surprise, they forded those streams with ease.

"Odd," mused Legolas when they had come to yet another stream whose bed was nearly dry. "Odd that with all the rain to the north so little water flows through this channel. It is true that it is not the major outflow of the lake, which serves, after all, as the headwater of the Baranduin. Still, there ought to be a fair amount of water in this channel."

"Yes," agreed Gilglîr. "It is indeed odd."

"Not so very odd," disagreed Tathar. "Something has blocked the channel, is all. My guess would be a beaver dam. Over the years, a family of beavers can construct a dam so extensive that it will flood an entire valley. I warrant that if we were to ride further north, we would find the Nenuial to be vastly enlarged."

The third morning of their journey, the rain was still confined to the north, but there was a stillness to the land that Legolas found unnerving.

"The earth is awaiting something," Legolas murmured to Gilglîr as they stood together at daybreak. "I hear no birds, and it comes to my mind that we have seen no living thing for the space of two days."

"Yes," agreed the Seneschal. "We should get underway as quickly as possible and hasten eastward. Those clouds lour down on us from the Emyn Uial. Its peaks are veiled in danger."

Legolas and Gilglîr went amongst their companions, rousing those who still slept and urging on those who were already awake. They did not spare even Gandalf, whom Legolas found a little apart from the rest of the company, sheltering under a blanket with Edwen Nana.

"Get up, O mighty wizard," teased Legolas, seizing the blanket and trying to yank it from the couple.

"I _was_ up," complained Gandalf, yanking back on the covering, "but, now, thanks to you, I am not."

Chuckling, Legolas went off to allow the two an opportunity to make themselves respectable. Tathar and Caranlass were also sheltering a little apart from the others, under a sort of tent that Tathar had contrived from their cloaks.

"Tathar," called Legolas as he stood by this tent. "Caranlass. Pardon me for disturbing your peace, but we must get underway as soon as ever we may."

Tathar came crawling out from the shelter, looking, Legolas noticed with amusement, as if he had not spent any time that night in actual slumber.

"Is something the matter, Legolas," he asked softly, straightening himself up.

"I do not know," Legolas replied, equally softly. "It is almost as if Arda apprehends something. Mark you how silent the land lies?"

Tathar looked about and then nodded thoughtfully.

"We will be ready to depart upon the instant, Legolas."

"Thank you, my friend."

Hastily, all the travelers made ready, and soon they were marching across the land, breaking their fast as they walked on food left over from the evening meal. Legolas urged them to advance as quickly as possible, for fear grew upon him with the passage of every minute. The silence of the land had deepened. Now not even an insect stirred. The only sound was the grumble of thunder to the north that accompanied the lightning bolts that sheared the clouds with increasing frequency.

At last, to Legolas' immense relief, they spied the ruins of Annúnimas, the Tower of the West.

"We are nearly past the Emyn Uial," said Legolas happily to Gilglîr, "and, see, to the east of those hills the sky begins to clear."

Just as he spoke, he felt a trembling in his legs, and the land seemed to dance before his eyes. He passed his hands before his eyes, but when he removed them, the land had not ceased its motion. If anything, it gyrated even more than before. Gilglîr uttered one word.

"Earthquake."

The oldest and wisest among the Elves at once flung themselves down, rightly judging that it was better to drop to the ground than to be thrown upon it by the heaving earth. As the shaking of the earth grew more violent, several of the younger and smaller Elves were indeed knocked to the ground. Tathar flung his arms around Caranlass and supported her, else she would have been one of those thrown off her feet.

When the earth had at last ceased trembling, Legolas strode from Elf to Elf, checking to see whether any were badly injured. Those who had been knocked down sported bruises, but no worse. Legolas had little time to rejoice in this discovery, however, for at once a new peril arose. The ground did not resume shaking, but all heard a rumbling sound. Tathar gave a shout and pointed to the north. It looked as if a grey cloud had dropped to the ground and was rolling toward them. But Tathar knew better.

"Run," he shouted, "run east! The dam has broken. Yonder rushes a wall of water that shall sweep us to our deaths if we remain here."

Just then the company heard another noise, but this a welcome one. It was the sound of pounding hooves. Their steeds were coming back for them.

The company sprinted toward the horses; the horses galloped toward them. Mere seconds before the water struck the two groups collided, and each Elf (plus one wizard) scrambled onto the nearest horse, never minding whether it was his or not. Tathar boosted the smaller Caranlass onto one horse before turning to find one for himself. Ai! Before he could do so, the surge struck him and swept him off his feet. But his skill as a carpenter saved him, albeit in an odd fashion. Tathar of course had a frame of wood affixed to his back, and that frame supported a bundle that contained more wood than anything else: the trencher, spoon, and bowl he had carved for Caranlass, plus the architectural models he had fashioned. So now, his pack buoyant, he floated in the water like an empty barrel on its way to Esgaroth. When a riderless horse plunged by, he seized that creature's tail, and the steed—it couldn't very well have been called a mount at this point!—swam toward dry land with Tathar bobbing in his wake.

Edwen Nana also had a bit of a bad moment before her safety was assured. She had been scrambling onto a horse when the flood hit and had lost her grip, tumbling into the raging water. Gandalf, however, was securely astride a mount and urged the horse to swim toward her. Nearing her, he reached out his staff. She seized it and he drew her to his horse and lifted her up before him.

With all the company now safely horsed, the steeds swam steadily toward the east. Of course, they were in effect traveling _south_east. Even a powerful elven horse could not fully overcome the power of such a great quantity of rushing water. So, as they swam east, the current simultaneously pushed them south. This delayed their arrival upon dry land, but it could not prevent it altogether. They had, after all, been very nearly past the Emyn Uial. At length, after what seemed like hours of swimming but what was really only a short while, the horses heaved themselves out of the water and stood panting beside the flood. The travelers looked back. Behind them was a great expanse of water, the earth submerged for as far as they could see.

"If we had delayed our departure," said Gilglîr soberly, "we would have found the way blocked and been forced to detour to the south."

Legolas shook his head.

"No, my friend. You are wrong. If we had delayed our departure or journeyed in a more leisurely manner, we would have been in the middle of the lowlands when they were swept by that wall of water. Not even the strongest elven horse would have been able to withstand the torrent. We were lucky to be caught in naught but the edge of it."

"Lucky?" said Gandalf. "Luck had nothing to do with it. Gilglîr has been saying all along that the horses were urging us to make haste. I don't call that luck, although I _will_ call it good fortune. We are blessed in our friends, both two-footed and four."

All within hearing assented to the words of the wizard, and any cloth that remained dry was first used to rub down the horses before any of the travelers thought of seeing to their own needs. The horses made comfortable, Elves then searched about for any wood not too damp to be burned. With such branches and limbs as could be gathered, fires were kindled beside which garments were spread. Whilst their clothes were drying, not a few Elves sported about in nothing more than strips of cloth wound about the middle in such a way as to obscure strategic areas. Gandalf and Edwen Nana both declared that they had too much dignity to engage in such a display, and they made as if to vanish into a nearby thicket with one of the few dry blankets.

"Are you sure that you will need only one blanket," Legolas asked the couple, his manner carefully composed.

"Far be it from me," said Edwen Nana, her face solemn and her voice solicitous, "to deprive another member of our company by laying claim to more than is absolutely needful in the way of shelter. Rather than keeping a blanket all to myself, I am sure I don't mind sharing one with a fellow traveler."

"My sentiments pre-cise-ly," concurred Gandalf, equally grave. "'Tis a sacrifice I am willing to make."

"It you are certain, then," said Legolas. "Oh, by the way, Mithrandir, good work with the staff. It is lucky that you can extend that pole of yours as far as you do. I do not know of anyone else who could have served Edwen Nana so."

Gandalf emitted something that very much sounded like a growl, but the wizard was smiling, as was his companion.

Whilst this conversation was taking place, Tathar and Caranlass were disappearing into the other side of the thicket, bearing with them another one of the dry blankets. Legolas forbore pressing another coverlet upon them.

"Given Tathar's ingenuity," he commented to Gilglîr, "I am sure that with one blanket he could erect a pavilion."

"Oh, he'll erect something, I'll wager," said Gilglîr. "But," he called over his shoulder as he strolled toward one of the campfires, "I doubt a pavilion is what he has in mind."

At this reply, Legolas, perhaps mindful of his own dignity, suppressed a giggle—although it must be said that at this point he had very little dignity left to preserve, owing to the fact that his outfit featured the peculiar juxtaposition of a diadem and a hastily devised loin-cloth. Why he chose to wear the hated diadem at this moment has never been answered, although it has been opined that he did so in order to indulge his mischievous appreciation for the ridiculous.

Thus for a time we leave the company as its members adopt various and sundry means of sheltering themselves for the night, arrangements that, if somewhat _ad hoc_, were nonetheless practical and even, in some cases, pleasurable.


	62. Archery Duel

**_Salan:_**** Hello, _Salan_. I see that you just reviewed Chapter 10. Hope you stay with us so that you see this greeting at the beginning of Chapter 63!**

**_Dragonfly:_ Hmm, Legolas' loincloth seems to have been a big hit. Uh oh, the string is fraying. Um, Legolas, mind your loincloth. Legolas! Deleted scene. Should I include a blooper reel? I dunno.**

**_Fluffy's_****_ fangirls:_ I regret to report that in this chapter Legolas puts his leggings back on.**

**_Legosgurl_****: Oh no, no excuses! You have to finish your chapter. If you don't, I'll unleash _Yarrie_ on you, so you'd better be careful.**

_Yarrie_: Hey, _Yarrie_, I wanna put out a contract out on _Legosgurl_. She hasn't finished her chapter, and she's says it's partly because my last chapter had her in hysterics. But I'm not gonna take the fall for her!

**_Joee_****: Yeah, some people have Sneak-O-Meters, but Legolas has a Trouble-O-Meter.**

**_The essence of popsicles:_ It's not too late for me to use the line because Thranduil is not done trying to marry off Legolas.**

**_Andi_****_-Black:_ Well, _I _think it was very civic-minded of Edwen Nana and Gandalf to share a blanket! Ahem.**

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly**

**Chapter 62: Archery Duel**

In the morning their clothes were still a trifle damp, but they shrugged them on nonetheless. They were not so wet and clammy as to impede their movement.

"Mithrandir," said Legolas to that worthy wizard, "are you still resolved on a visit to the Shire? Or have you had enough adventure for the time being? The beds at Imladris are warm and welcoming."

"So too are the beds in Bag End," rejoined the wizard. "Although," he added thoughtfully, "they are considerably shorter than the beds in Elrond's Hall. Still," he went on briskly, "I've endured worse sleeping arrangements than a too-short bed, and I can look forward to several excellent repasts by way of compensation. Bilbo sets a good table! Besides," he added slyly, "visiting the Shire will give me an opportunity to replenish my stock of pipe weed, which has diminished considerably."

Legolas grimaced at the mention of that loathsome leaf, but over the centuries Gandalf had made it perfectly clear that he had no intention of giving up his objectionable habit until he departed for the Undying Lands, where he knew that the weed would not be tolerated.

"Very well, then," Legolas said. "Whilst you head for the Shire, the remainder of the company will make for Fornost and take shelter in its ruins. We will await you there."

"Ah, that's a good rendezvous point. Intriguing place, that old city of Men. You do know that it was once the capital of the Northern Kingdom, don't you?"

"Goodness," exclaimed Legolas. "What do you take me for—an elfling? Of course I know that! Erestor drummed that tidbit of information into my head, along with all sorts of similar nuggets of knowledge. I don't think Erestor ever met a fact that he didn't like."

Gandalf chuckled. Legolas' sketch of Erestor hit the mark with an amusing precision. Still, even a seemingly trivial fact might prove to be of significance at some point.

"It is true," the wizard acknowledged, "that Erestor seems to place an inordinate emphasis upon the memorization of minutiae, but it often the least of things upon which the outcome of great events may depend. Men have a saying, 'For want of a nail, the shoe was lost; for want of a shoe, the horse was lost; for want of a horse, the rider was lost; for want of a rider, the battle was lost; for want of a battle, the kingdom was lost'."

"From the smallest of beginnings come the greatest of results," said Legolas, smiling slightly at the seriousness of his friend. Gandalf, however, continued on in the same earnest vein.

"Yes. Truly, Legolas, I would not be surprised if the fate of Middle-earth itself should depend upon something quite small, so small that one would be inclined to think it a trifle."

"Indeed," Gandalf murmured to himself as he went off to gather his effects. "Indeed, more and more I am convinced that this will be the case."

Legolas, meanwhile, went off to give the order to mount up. To the dismay of the Elves, however, the horses proved skittish and would not allow themselves to be caught.

"Do you suppose they want us to stay here?" Legolas said to Gilglîr.

"In such an exposed setting? I would be surprised. But apparently they do not like the place we propose to repair to."

"What do you think we should do?"

"I think," said Gilglîr slowly, "that something may not be right at Fornost. If so, it would not be wise for us to approach it from the south, for we would be easily spotted. Let us journey further toward the east, and then head north. Once we are above Fornost, we should leave the horses and traverse the North Downs, taking advantage of the cover that those hills will afford us. If an evil invests the ruins of the ancient city, we may thus be able to take it unawares."

Legolas agreed. He pointed out, however, that they were traveling with two ellith.

"We can't very well leave Caranlass and Edwen Nana by themselves. The thicket is a most insubstantial shelter against both the weather and any foes that might happen upon them. But, if there is danger at Fornost, we may have need of all our warriors."

"True. Edwen Nana and Caranlass should ride with us to the hills. We need part with them only when we conceal the horses. Perhaps we could leave one guard."

"Yes, and it should be Tathar. Everyone would approve choosing him as guard, for no one would want to ask him to leave to another the task of safeguarding his spouse."

Their plans laid, Legolas went to gentle the horses, who were at last willing to allow themselves to be saddled and laden. Indeed, they now seemed quite eager to be off, especially the horse Gandalf had been riding. Gandalf had departed for the Shire on foot, for he did not wish to attract the attention that would result if he rode into Hobbiton astride a great elven horse. His steed had been sulky at having been left, but, now that there was adventure afoot, he had recovered his spirits.

The company rode several miles to the east. Finally Legolas and Gilglîr were convinced that they had gone far enough so that they would not be spied from Fornost as they passed by heading north. The order was given, and they turned north. Everyone—warriors, ellith, and horses alike—was alert, but they saw no sign of danger. They rode north until they were at least ten leagues above Fornost, when they turned west, making for the North Downs.

Once they were in the hills, they continued to ride until they were only five leagues north of the ancient capital. Legolas and Gilglîr then deemed that they had gone as far as they safely could on horseback. From here, they would proceed on foot, and so more stealthily. They looked for a likely glen in which to conceal the horses. Once they found one, Legolas ordered the company to dismount and issued his orders.

"We are going to reconnoiter Fornost and its environs, to make certain that no foes are lurking about. It would not be good for Imladris if enemies established a foothold in these hills. Caranlass and Edwen Nana, you will remain with the horses. Tathar, it is needful that someone remain to guard both the horses and the ellith. This shall be your task."

Ai! Legolas should not have intimated that the ellith needed to be guarded like livestock!

"I beg your pardon," spluttered Edwen Nana, "but _I_ don't remember asking for anyone to guard me."

"But, Edwen Nana," protested Legolas, "you can't be meaning to remain here alone."

"Oh, and who said that I meant to do so? I am going with you."

Legolas was thoroughly flustered now.

"Nana! There may be fighting!"

"May I remind you that I have some experience in that department," the elleth retorted acerbically. "Have you forgotten who it was slew the warg that invaded our cottage? Have you never heard the tale of how I dismembered a score of Orcs that had invaded the Great Hall?"

Now, a 'score' of Orcs may be exaggerating matters somewhat, but it is true that Edwen Nana had proved to be handy with a sword, which she wielded with as much aplomb as if she were dressing a carcass for dinner.

"Oh, very well," Legolas reluctantly conceded. (After all, what choice did he have?) "If you insist, you may accompany the warriors."

"I do," Edwen Nana calmly said.

Legolas turned to Tathar.

"It seems you shall have to guard only the one elleth."

Caranlass, however, had not yet had her say. The younger elleth had always been very independent minded. She had, after all, set her sights on marrying a carpenter instead of a lord, a choice that most young ellith of her station would have eschewed. And this streak of independence had been further encouraged by Edwen Nana, whom the younger elleth had come to admire. In the short time that she had known the older elleth, Caranlass had already become notably bolder in both speech and behavior. Now she was about to prove exactly how much bolder.

"I will go as well," she said firmly.

"Caranlass," exclaimed Tathar, aghast, "you most certainly will not!"

"Excuse me," said Caranlass. "Did I hear you aright? Did you just command me as if I were an elfling?"

"But, but, but, you, you're my _wife_!"

"And you are my husband," rejoined Caranlass. "What of it?"

This brought Tathar up short. Indeed, what of it? Elven marriage vows included much on the subject of loving and cherishing, but nothing on the subject of obeying. In place of such language, common in the espousal ceremonies of Men, the Eldar spoke much of respect—the wife for the husband, the husband for the wife. On what grounds, then, could Tathar forbid Caranlass from accompanying the warriors?

To dispel the looming marital crisis, Gilglîr hastily intervened.

"You are of course correct, Caranlass: Tathar cannot order you to remain with the horses. However, I believe he speaks only out of concern for your welfare and not to denigrate your right to choose your own path. You must concede that Edwen Nana is not only an experienced fighter but also heavier than you and more muscular. You could hardly wield a sword as she does."

"I was not proposing that I wield a sword," retorted Caranlass. "My weapon is the bow. In my land, the ellith hunt with the ellyn, and I am acknowledged to be a better shot than all but the most experienced of the archers."

So this was why Caranlass' baggage included a bow and a quiver. Seeing them strapped upon her horse, Gilglîr had assumed that they were gifts from Caranlass to Tathar. It had never occurred to him that they were for her own use. Gilglîr looked helplessly at Legolas.

"I think," said the prince, "that if Caranlass can match an elven archer from Mirkwood, then she may indeed accompany the warriors." He drew an arrow from his quiver. "I shall shoot ten arrows into yonder bole. If ten times she can come within a finger's breadth of each of my shafts, then no one can gainsay her rights in this matter."

Tathar smiled happily. Legolas, the paramount archer in all of elvendom, could easily accomplish such a feat, but few others could. Caranlass' safety was assured.

Caranlass went to fetch her bow and quiver. When she returned, Legolas drew back the string and released his first arrow. Caranlass calmly fitted a shaft to the string of her bow, smoothly drew it back, and, hardly seeming to aim, released it. It whirred through the air—and split Legolas' arrow. The onlookers gasped, and with an effort Legolas refrained from gaping at the outcome. He recovered quickly, however.

'After all', he assured himself, 'even an untutored novice will sometimes be lucky in his shooting."

He selected another arrow, nocked his bow, and sent the shaft flying after the first one. Caranlass promptly split this second arrow. There was no gasp this time, but only because the wind had already been knocked out of all the onlookers.

Legolas released a third arrow. This time Caranlass' arrow 'merely' grazed it, but that was enough for Legolas. He stepped back from the target without drawing a fourth arrow.

"I think," said Legolas, respectfully inclining his head toward Caranlass, "I think that additional trials will not be necessary. It is plain that Caranlass possesses more than enough skill at archery to hold her own in battle. Indeed, we would be fools to turn down an offer of aid from one as proficient as she."

Tathar hardly knew how to look. He feared for the safety of his wife, but he could not help but be proud of her skill and poise. Gilglîr clapped him consolingly on the back.

"Don't fret, lad. She took us by surprise; be sure that she will take our foes by surprise as well. By the time they realize that she is a threat, they'll all be dead."

Tathar nodded wordlessly and then went to fetch his own weapons.

Dusk was falling as they finished preparations, but this did not deter them from setting out. Legolas judged that, by traveling during the night, they would reach Fornost by dawn. If they discovered Orcs there, they would be preparing to slumber. If Men, their foes would just be arising. Either way, the Elves would have the advantage of coming upon them when they would be sluggish and ill prepared.

Several scouts moved in advance of the main body of the company. When they were only two miles from Fornost, one of them returned with his report.

"There are indeed foes encamped within the ruins of the city," he reported to Legolas.

"Orcs or Men."

"Half and half."

"A combined force of Orcs and Men?"

"After a fashion, my Lord, but combined in each and every body."

"I do not follow you."

"Each enemy looks to be part Orc, part Man."

Half-goblins. Not good. Such creatures sometimes combined the strength of Orcs with the cleverness of Men.

"How many."

"Two score."

At least their number was manageable.

"How armed?"

"With scimitars."

Better and better. They could bring down some with volleys of arrows before they had to engage in hand-to-hand combat.

Quietly the Elves encircled the enemy encampment. The ruins, which had hitherto shielded the half-goblins, would redound upon them for it now provided cover for their foes.

Tathar was by Legolas' side. Gilglîr had insisted upon it, for he said that otherwise Tathar would be too distracted by concern for Caranlass' safety and therefore might himself fall to a foe. Tathar had protested, but Gilglîr was adamant. Edwen Nana would shepherd the younger elleth, and that was the end of it. Now, nerves taut, Tathar listened alongside Legolas as one by one were given the bird calls that signaled that each small band of Elves had moved into position. Legolas prepared to give the signal to attack. Suddenly, he froze, shocked. Across the way, Caranlass had stumbled into the open. She did not carry her bow, and she peered about helplessly, as if she were lost. Tathar tried to leap to his feet, but Legolas yanked him down and clapped his hand over his mouth. The two peered out from their cover, hoping that at any minute Edwen Nana would leap forward and pull the elleth behind a wall. Instead, a half-goblin lounging against a heap of stones gave a shout and leaped to his feet.

"Hey, boys," he shouted. "We got company!"

Legolas noticed that the half-goblin did not bother to pick up his scimitar when he began to saunter toward Caranlass.

Another half-goblin, similarly unencumbered with weapon, shouted "In't it a purty pointy-ear?" and began to likewise move away from cover.

"Oooooh," Caranlass shrieked, "I am _so_ afraid." Her hands fluttered in the air helplessly.

Now Tathar had to stifle Legolas because he was afraid that the prince would giggle and give the game away. Legolas could hardly have been blamed if he had laughed, however, for Caranlass was putting on such a marvelous impersonation of a weak and vulnerable maiden.

More half-goblins came out into the open. Legolas waited until the lead one was almost to Caranlass and then gave the signal.

The lead half-goblin was the first to fall, brought down by Tathar, who, once he was sure Legolas would not giggle, had kept his bow aimed squarely at that one target.

Perhaps a quarter of the half-goblins died in the first volley. That meant about thirty of their foes remained, but the half-goblins were surrounded and had been thrown into a state of confusion. Even those who had not broken cover had left their weapons as they had peered out to see what all the commotion was about. Legolas was to remember this engagement as one of the easiest of his career as a warrior.

Afterward, he asked Caranlass how many foes she had brought down.

"Ten," she replied archly, "and without expending a single arrow. Match _that_ if you can."

Now Legolas did laugh, both long and hard.

"I know," he later said to Gilglîr, "that I ought to rebuke her because she acted without orders."

"Actually," replied the seneschal, "you would be out of order if you rebuked her."

"How so?"

"You said before Caranlass went off with Edwen Nana that she was to do nothing without the permission of the older elleth. Caranlass suggested the ruse to Edwen Nana, and that elleth gave her leave to act as she would. So, you see, once you deputized Edwen Nana, you laid open the possibility that some such trick would be played."

"I see," said Legolas, chagrined.

"Of course," Gilglîr suggested impishly, "you _could_ rebuke Edwen Nana."

"Oh, I think not," Legolas replied hastily.

While this conversation was taking place, Tathar and Caranlass were having one of their own.

"I have to concede that you and Edwen Nana were very clever," Tathar said, "but it seems rather sneaky to employ such a trick."

"Do not Men say, 'All's fair in love and war'?"

"Hmmph! I hope that doesn't mean that you will be playing tricks on _me_! I shall know how to requite you."

"Oooooh," Caranlass murmured, "I am _so_ afraid."

Tathar's eyes glinted, and he took her in his arms. Just then he heard Gilglîr shouting for him. Legolas wanted the carpenter to help devise shelters in the ruins more comfortable than those that had been flung up by the half-goblins. Tathar sighed and stepped back.

"Wherever did you get yourself to?" said Legolas when Tathar reappeared.

"I was putting up my sword," grumbled Tathar, "when I was interrupted."

"Well," said Legolas, suddenly noticing Tathar's scabbard, "I am sure that you had time for _that_. Your sheath is empty."

"_Both_ of them are," growled Tathar.

"Oh," blushed Legolas, suddenly catching Tathar's drift. "I _am_ sorry. Um, if you wish, you may return and finish what, what you were doing."

"Legolas," Tathar explained with as much patience as he could muster, "it's not like a candle that can be lit, blown out, and then rekindled upon command. I can't very well stroll back to Caranlass, knowing that you will be waiting here knowing—oh, never mind!"

At this point both young Elves were suffering from a full elven blush, meaning that the color had spread to the very tips of their pointed ears.

"Well," said Legolas awkwardly, "I suppose we had better get on about the business of devising shelters. We are going to be here a fortnight, and we may as well be comfortable and under cover."

'Yes', Tathar thought to himself as he surveyed the remnants of the ancient capital. 'Yes, I do want to be under cover tonight—substantial cover!' And, having considerable unspent energy after his all-too-brief exchange with Caranlass, you may be certain that he made sure of _that_.


	63. Tea For Three

**_Dragonfly:_ Yeah, I thought it would be appropriate if Caranlass did a send-up of the male Elves' very own biases. When the Orcs fell for her little performance, I think Legolas and the others could see how ridiculous their own attitudes had been.**

**_Salan:_**** Wow! The other day you were at chapter 10; now you've reached Chapter 41! I'm going to have to write faster!**

**_Andi_****_-Black: _Sorry you have the flu. I hope—um, I mean—I'm afraid there might be a few lines of dialogue in here that will make you laugh a little. Sorry if I cause you any pain!**

**_Legosgurl_****: Cliffies are good! I think you should end your chapter with one.**

**_Joee_****: Since they are half-goblins, you can bet that Saruman was behind their presence. It was yet another one of his attempts to encircle and spy upon the Shire.**

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly**

**Chapter 63: Tea for Three**

Bilbo and Frodo were just sitting down to tea—although at any other household it would have been taken for the day meal—when they heard a tapping at the window.

"Oh ho!" exclaimed Bilbo. "I recognize that tap."

'Of course you do', thought Frodo wryly. 'How many wizards could there be in Middle-earth who announce their presence by tapping on windows?'

Frodo had often wondered about this peculiar habit of Gandalf. "Just one of those oddities of his that make him who he is, my boy," Bilbo always said, but Frodo was not convinced that that was all there was to it. He could remember a time when Gandalf would stride up openly to the door and rap smartly on it with his staff. When he pressed Bilbo about it, the old Hobbit allowed as how some residents in Hobbiton had grown leery of the wizard. "He is simply trying to avoid unfriendly eyes, Frodo, my lad." This Frodo could believe, but he suspected that not all the unfriendly eyes Gandalf was trying to avoid belonged to Hobbits. With the passage of every year, Gandalf seemed to grow edgier and edgier, always looking over his shoulder, as it were.

Bilbo set another place while Frodo went to the door. He opened it and peered out. No wizard in sight, but after a minute a gray shadow slipped past him and into the house. Frodo closed the door and bolted it. For some reason, Gandalf always insisted that the door be bolted for the duration of his visits. "And I do wish, Bilbo," the wizard would say, "that you would make a practice of bolting your door each and every night. You are much too trusting."

"Of course I am trusting, Gandalf," Bilbo would laugh. "This is the Shire, not the wild lands through which we journeyed so long ago."

"The Shire may not be proof against danger," Gandalf argued.

Bilbo only laughed.

"Oh, come now, Gandalf, what evil lurks in the hearts of Hobbits?"

"You would be surprised," said Gandalf darkly, "but it is not only Hobbits I am thinking of."

Bilbo laughed again.

"This is a small land inhabited by small people. No evil could be hidden here!"

"You would be surprised," Gandalf had muttered again.

When Frodo returned to the dining room, he found Gandalf and Bilbo engaged in just such a conversation.

"Are you quite sure nothing untoward has been noticed in the vicinity of the Shire?" Gandalf was asking.

"Oh, some peculiar folk have been spotted in Buckland, but, well, that's Buckland, isn't it. It's known for being a peculiar place."

"Hul-lo!" objected Frodo. "I was born in Buckland!"

"Ah, well, there you have it now, don't you!" retorted Bilbo.

Both Gandalf and Frodo had to laugh. The tension broken, the three fell to, and so plentiful was the food that Bilbo and Frodo were not deprived in the least by the addition of Gandalf to the table. Afterward Bilbo and Gandalf went into the garden to smoke—Gandalf refusing to sit on the front stoop because he might be seen.

Later that evening, after Bilbo had gone to bed, Gandalf and Frodo sat together before the fireplace.

"So, Frodo, how is your uncle getting on?"

"As you can see for yourself, he is doing quite well, amazingly so, really, when you consider his age."

"Hmmm, yes, I _have_ been considering that. He scarcely looks any older than he did when we first parted at the conclusion of his adventure at the Lonely Mountain. Tell me, is he as happy as he is healthy?"

Frodo hesitated.

"He's a bit tetchy sometimes. Although," he added defensively, "the same could be said of you!"

Gandalf was unperturbed.

"_I_ have good reason to be 'tetchy', as you call it. Bilbo, however, lives in the peaceable Shire, where, he claims, no evil dwells. What cause has _he_ to be irritable?"

"The Sackville-Bagginses, for one. If you had them dogging your every step, your view of the world would be a pretty grim one, let me tell you!"

"Wish that's all I had dogging my footsteps," muttered the wizard. "Better to be dogged than warged."

"What's that you say, Gandalf?"

"Never you mind. So how does Bilbo deal with the depredations of the Sackville-Bagginses?"

"He tries to stay out of sight. Oh!"

Frodo suddenly realized that he had said more than he ought.

"Stays out of sight, eh?" said Gandalf shrewdly. "Pray tell, how does he manage that? He has considerable girth—for a Hobbit—so it can't be an easy matter."

"_You_ know how he does it, Gandalf."

"Indeed I do. It was my understanding that he would not use it anymore. I am disappointed that he has not kept his promise."

"It is hard to keep such a promise when you are bedeviled by such relatives. Surely you can see that."

"I can not. If he didn't carry it about with him, he wouldn't be able to succumb to temptation so easily. Why doesn't he lock it in a strongbox?"

"He _can't_, Gandalf."

A troubled look passed over Gandalf's face, but he mastered himself quickly.

"He can't, you say," the wizard remarked calmly. "Curious. Why can't he?"

Frodo hesitated again, and longer this time.

"He, he says it has a grip on him."

"A grip on him?"

"Yes, well, it demands to be taken care of, is all. It is, you must concede, quite precious."

"What's that you say?" Gandalf demanded sharply.

"It is a valuable object, Gandalf. It is necessary that it be looked after."

"Why can't it look after itself, that's what _I_ want to know!"

"What nonsense, Gandalf! A ring can't look after itself!"

"Some have been known to," the wizard muttered direly. "And I suspect this is one of them."

"Gandalf, you were always an irascible old coot, but tonight you outdo yourself!"

Gandalf gave him a sharp look from underneath his bristly eyebrows.

"An irascible old coot, eh. Is that any way to speak to your uncle's old friend!"

"Oh," said Frodo cheerfully, "it is because you are my uncle's old friend that I speak so familiarly. I dare to presume on your years of intimacy with Hobbits, knowing that you wouldn't have kept coming back repeatedly if you didn't enjoy our tom-foolery."

The Hobbit grinned mischievously. He leaned back with his arms locked behind his head and propped his feet upon the fireplace fender. As he did so, Gandalf got a good look at the birthmark on his ankle, one that was all too familiar to the Istar, having as he did an identical one upon his shoulder. Like Frodo's, his birthmark took the shape of the elven word for 'nine'.

Gandalf had first seen the birthmark upon Frodo's ankle when the Hobbit had been rescued as an infant from the Brandywine River after the tragic drowning of his parents. Legolas had been with the wizard, but Gandalf had been careful not to allow the young Elf to catch sight of the birthmark. He knew that Legolas had such a mark on the inside of his forearm, but did not think it was yet time for him to know that he shared that sign with the Hobbit. Nor had the wizard ever revealed his own birthmark to the Elf. Legolas was puzzled enough by the fact that Aragorn had the selfsame mark. In former years the sign on the human had been largely obscured by dirt, but inevitably, given the time that Aragorn and Legolas spent in one another's company, the Elf had come to know of it.

Legolas was also not aware of the fact that there was a Dwarf in Erebor marked by the sign. This Dwarf was a son of Glóin, one of the Dwarves with whom Bilbo had journeyed to the Lonely Mountain so long ago. Gandalf had kept in touch with those of that band who had survived the Battle of Five Armies. So it was that he had learned of the birth of Gimli. He had traveled to Erebor to congratulate Glóin, who had proudly shown off the infant, whose only flaw, in the eyes of the father, was a curious birthmark that resembled elvish lettering. Gandalf had not told Glóin that those letters spelled out the word 'nine' or that there were others in Middle-earth who bore that sign.

'One wizard, an Elf, a Dwarf, a human, and a Hobbit', Gandalf mused. 'Whatever could it signify? And are we the only ones, I wonder?'

Suddenly in his head Gandalf heard a voice that intimated that he would learn the answers to these questions all too soon.

In exasperation, the wizard sent a quick message back.

'Galadriel!' he protested silently, 'unless you are going to be a little less enigmatic, I'll thank you to stay out of my head tonight!'

"Gandalf, are you alright?"

"Eh? Oh, yes. Well, my lad, I do believe I'll turn in for the night. You _will_ bolt the door, won't you?"

Frodo laughed.

"I already have, but I must say that I agree with Bilbo that your concern is excessive. This is, after all, the Shire."

"Frodo, you should have spent less time on birds-nesting and more on learning the history of your little land. Even the Shire—yes, the commonplace Shire!—has come under attack on occasion. Have you never heard of the Battle of Green Fields, at which Bandobras Took repulsed Orcs who tried to invade from the north?"

"Yes, but that event took place long ago. No one has any cause to attack us now."

Gandalf looked hard at the Hobbit.

"Frodo, only a little while ago you told me that the ring is valuable."

"Yes—precious."

Gandalf flinched but continued doggedly.

"As it is valuable, do you think it past belief that someone would want to steal it?"

"No-oo, I suppose not."

"Well, then," said Gandalf briskly. "Bolt the doors! And do try to convince your uncle to make as little use of the ring as possible. I suppose it is too much to hope that he'll lock the ring in a strongbox, but the less he uses it, the less likely it is that he'll draw attention to himself by trying to _not_ draw attention to himself."

With that, the wizard arose and turned to depart the room, but his progress was abruptly checked.

"Owww!"

"Gandalf," laughed Frodo, "will you never learn to duck? I think you have struck your head against each and every ceiling beam at Bag End!"

"I think you are right," admitted Gandalf, looking a bit mortified. "Well, well, I have much on my mind, and so I may be forgiven if I overlook the locations of ceiling beams."

"Oh, _I_ forgive you," grinned Frodo. "Bang into them as often as you like!"

"Insufferable scamp," growled Gandalf, but he was grinning as well. For a little while at least, the growing weight that pressed down upon the wizard seemed to lessen, and, though he carefully stooped as he made his way to his room, his spirits at least were uplifted. It was simply impossible, he thought to himself, to remain gloomy whilst within the cozy confines of a Hobbit hole. And with that consoling thought, the weary wizard cast aside both his robes and his cares. The bed was, as usual, too short, but the hearts of his Hobbit hosts were large, and for Gandalf, that fact more than made up for any deficiencies in the sleeping arrangements. And on that note, let us leave him slumber in peace for the space of that one night at least.


	64. What's In A Name? II

**_Chrys: _****Well, as you already know, I couldn't resist the idea of Haldir getting hold of one of those pictures. So you get the credit (or the blame!) for that story!**

**_The essence of popsicles:_ There is bit more "hobbit stuff" in this chapter, and Merry and Pippin do put in a brief appearance—although Pippin does not pull Gandalf's beard! (I can try to work that in later, though.)**

**_Dragonfly:_ Yes, it is "creepy," but, don't forget, one doesn't have to wear the Ring to be affected by it. Being in its proximity can be enough. Remember Boromir!**

**_Legosgurl:_ Legolas is in this chapter, O Faithful Reader.**

**_Salan_: Goodness, now you are at Chapter 49 and are solving the mathematical problem to boot!**

**_Terreis: _Yes, I will fit in each birthmark. I just realized that I will have to slightly rework the introduction to Frodo's birthmark because Elijah Wood's tattoo is on his hip rather than his ankle. Oh, well.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly._**

**Chapter 64: What's in a Name? II  
**

The morning after the skirmish with the Orcs, Legolas sat on a block of masonry from one of the ruined walls of Fornost and gazed thoughtfully toward the east. After awhile, Gilglîr came to sit by him.

"A farthing for your thoughts," he teased.

"Gilglîr," Legolas replied, his face exceedingly serious, "don't you find it odd that Orcs should be found this far west?"

Gilglîr at once grew equally serious.

"Yes," he said soberly. "Yes, I do. It is uncommon for Orcs to travel so far in the direction of Mithlond."

"Do you suppose Mithlond was their ultimate target?"

"I find it difficult to believe that anything else in these desolate lands would attract their attention."

"Well, there is the Shire, of course."

"The Shire!" scoffed Gilglîr. "I know Mithrandir sets great stock by the Shire, but for all of his tales, I could never gather how it possibly could have held anything of any great value or importance. Truly, Legolas, I suspect that Mithrandir is excessively fond of that land because it is the source of the weed that he stuffs in that stinky pipe of his."

"No, Gilglîr, I think you are wrong about that. I have visited the Shire, and of all the mortal realms, it is one where I imagine Elves could dwell happily. It is a green land, a fruitful land, and its inhabitants are fond of laughter and song and tales of fellowship. The Shire may indeed lack those things which Men deem precious, but that realm is altogether beyond the value of anything else possessed by those of the mortal races."

"Ah," said Gilglîr astutely, "if there is nothing precious to be found in the Shire, then it can't have been the Orcs' target. They will not invade a land in order to amass laughter and song and tales of fellowship. They would want to lay their hands on something more substantial."

Legolas laughed and looked much relieved.

"You are right, of course, Gilglîr. There is nothing in the Shire that Orcs would covet. How foolishly I have been talking!"

Gilglîr clapped him on the back consolingly.

"Never you mind, Legolas. To be foolish is the prerogative of the young. And since I have set your mind at rest, come and have breakfast before Edwen Nana storms down upon you and seizes you by the ear. Now that Mithrandir has absented himself from the company, she is prowling the camp restlessly, seeking a target for her ministrations. A malnourished young Elf would be just the ticket, I think."

Legolas leaped to his feet with alacrity. It would not do to have Edwen Nana mothering him, especially not in front of the troop of elven warriors that he was supposed to be commanding!

Legolas and Gilglîr turned and walked toward a campfire where Edwen Nana bent over a pot stirring a dish that smelled much better than one had a right to expect, given that they were 'roughing it'. As they hurried in Edwen Nana's direction, a smallish, skulking creature briefly peered out at them from behind a stunted bush before vanishing back into the scrub.

At about the same time that Legolas and Gilglîr were being spied upon by the mysterious skulking creature, Bilbo was being spied upon—by Gandalf. Of course, neither Bilbo nor Gandalf would have called it spying. Bilbo was bustling about in the kitchen, making preparations for breakfast. Gandalf had joined him, although he was not bustling himself. For a wizard, the room was too small to admit of bustling, so he was seated at the tiny table, his legs drawn up under his chin. As he watched Bilbo, it did not escape his notice that every few minutes Bilbo anxiously clapped his hand to one pocket in particular.

'What has it got in its pockets?' the wizard said idly to himself, rehearsing a line from Bilbo's account of how he had acquired the ring. 'What has it got in its pockets?' At last he could not forbear speaking.

"You are going to ruin breakfast if you don't better attend to the fire," he said severely. "And that would be a great pity, as the salted pork looks particularly good."

"Nonsense! I am not at all distracted."

"Then what is that smell?"

With a cry of dismay, Bilbo flew to the oven and opened it, and a great quantity of smoke poured out. Coughing, the Hobbit flung open the window and then returned to the oven, towel in hand, to draw forth a pan of scorched scones. He carried the pan to the window and threw the entire mess into the garden, evoking an indignant 'Hey!' from someone just outside the window.

"Sorry, Sam," called Bilbo. "When those scones have cooled, do you suppose the birds might like them?"

"Not likely," replied Sam, sticking his head in at the window. "They have better taste, seeing as how there's this garden."

"Scarecrow still not working?" said Bilbo.

"Oh, it works alright—as a perch! Say, Master Gandalf, sir, you don't suppose you could put a spell on the scarecrow to keep the birds off?"

"Not my line of work, Sam. Have you tried dangling sparkly objects from its arms? I understand that when such objects dance about in the breeze, the birds take both fright and flight."

"Not our birds," replied Sam gloomily. "They are drawn all the more by bright, shiny things."

'Seems to be a general problem hereabouts', Gandalf thought to himself. Aloud he said, "Well, Sam, it seems you will simply have to grow enough for both bird and Hobbit. That is the only solution, I deem."

"Then I'd best get back to my gardening, as it seems I have both mouths and beaks to feed!"

Sam went back to trimming the grass-border under the window, and Bilbo and Gandalf, joined by Frodo, turned to the enjoyment of what remained of the breakfast. This was, in fact, quite a substantial item, so no one suffered from the loss of the scones. Indeed, there was still food on the table when they were joined by two of Frodo's young cousins, who were visiting from Buckland.

"Merry! Pippin!" exclaimed Frodo, grinning, "you've gotten up before noon! Uncle Bilbo, you'll have to include this truly remarkable event in that book you are writing."

"I do believe you are right," agreed Bilbo, entering into the spirit of things. "This beats having thirteen dwarves and a wizard showing up for tea."

Merry and Pippin were too preoccupied with devouring the remnants of breakfast to protest this characterization of their behavior. The others continued their conversation over the heads of these busy young Hobbits.

"So, Bilbo," said Gandalf, keeping his voice quite neutral, "you were telling me that you think often of the Last Homely House. Have a hankering to see it again?"

"You are not trying to inveigle my uncle into another adventure!" protested Frodo.

"No! No! No! But why shouldn't he visit his old friends if he has a desire to do so?"

"And I do," said Bilbo suddenly. "But it's more than that," he added thoughtfully. "When I returned to the Shire, I took pleasure in it, yes, all of it, down to the sprouting of the last blade of grass. But I don't anymore."

"What!" exclaimed Frodo, aghast, "how can you say that!"

"Ah, but I can, my lad," Bilbo said sadly. "Those strawberries, now, every year they taste less sweet than they did the year before. I'm afraid if this goes on much longer, they'll be altogether tasteless."

"Why, then, maybe you do need a change," suggested Gandalf. "Leave behind everything that weighs you down. _Everything_," he emphasized.

"Everything, eh," said Bilbo, looking at Gandalf shrewdly. The wizard noticed that his hand went to his pocket. "But, my dear Gandalf, that would be impossible. Who would look after matters?"

"I'm sure Frodo could. You've brought him up well enough."

"Frodo! But he is not of age!"

"He will be soon enough."

"Why, yes, that's true," said Bilbo, looking at Frodo in surprise. "The years haven't seemed to pass for me, but they have been passing for him, haven't they. The day I turn eleventy-one, why, that's the day he comes of age. Do you know, Gandalf, that our combined ages will be one-hundred forty-four—one gross!"

"Remarkable! And therefore warranting some remarkable gesture on your part."

"Yes," agreed Bilbo, beginning to wax enthusiastic. "For a start, a particularly spectacular party, one that somehow features the number one-hundred forty-four—perhaps a party within a party for certain especial guests. Yes, that's just the ticket. It will be _so_ much fun to draw up a list of one gross of guests."

"Oh, that's gross," said Merry, whose attention had been caught by the word 'party'.

"But doubtless some of the guests will be, too," Pippin chimed in.

Bilbo had leapt to his feet and was pacing the kitchen, small as it was.

"Gandalf, you've set me off. You are therefore obligated to design the fireworks."

"I will," said the wizard, surprising everyone by his failure to put up even the slightest resistance. "And I assure you that they shall be as spectacular as everything else that shall transpire that evening."

At the mention of fireworks, Merry and Pippin locked gazes and nodded one at the other. They had at once resolved to do their part in that department. Oh, yes, they each said silently, the fireworks would indeed be spectacular.

The remainder of Gandalf's stay at Bag End the wizard spent locked with Bilbo in the library, where the two of them drew up plans for the party. It was agreed that Gandalf would carry missives to Erebor and Dale commissioning the party favors, and he would arrange for Dwarves to augment the cooks and craftsmen that Bilbo would hire locally. As for Bilbo, much of his attention was devoted to drawing up lists of the gifts that in the Shire the host traditionally gave to guests at birthday parties, rather than vice versa, as was customary in other lands. "You say you feel 'weighed down'," said Gandalf. "Let this be an occasion when you shed much of that weight. Dispense freely with all that you possess."

"But I must leave something for Frodo," Bilbo protested.

"Of course! Your principal possessions will remain in his hands—all those things that are most precious to you."

At the word 'precious', Bilbo looked hard at Gandalf.

"Now, Bilbo," said Gandalf coolly, "we have already sorted this out. You know perfectly well that you could give away all your other possessions, but if you retain that one, you shall be as heavily burdened as before."

"I know you are right," grumbled Bilbo, "but it's still hard. And, yet, I don't know why it should be. It's only a bauble. I have never been avaricious, Gandalf. Gold and jewels have never had power over me."

"As you proved when you surrendered the Arkenstone to Bard in an attempt to stave off battle between the Dwarves and the Men of Dale and their allies the Elves of Mirkwood. That was a noble deed! I should not like to think that you will go out any less nobly."

"No more should I. Well, then, let it remain on the list of those things that I shall convey to Frodo."

"Yet I see that you have marked it off."

"Have I? Oh, yes, a line's been drawn through it. Absent-mindedness, I suppose."

"Aren't you going to write it back in again?"

"Well, yes, I suppose I should."

Reluctantly, Bilbo picked up the pen and dipped it in the ink well. Slowly, and in a shaky script unlike his usual neat one, he added the word 'ring' to the bottom of Frodo's list.

"You've very nearly blotted it," observed Gandalf, "but I can just make it out. Now, then, about the Sackville-Bagginses. You must leave them _something_."

This worked very nicely to distract Bilbo, as Gandalf had known it would.

"Ah, the Sackville-Bagginses. Do you know, Gandalf," the old Hobbit enthused, "I have just the thing. They stole my spoons whilst I was away on my adventure. I am sure of it! To tweak them, I shall give them yet another set of spoons!"

"Excellent!" exclaimed Gandalf. "That is right up there with giving Hugo Bracegirdle the bookcase and Adelard Took the umbrella."

"Do you think so?"

"I do indeed."

Beaming, Bilbo threw himself wholeheartedly into drawing up the cleverest list that could ever have been devised of gifts carefully matched to their intended recipients. The crisis surmounted, Gandalf let out a silent prayer of thanks and pulled out his pipe.

'Need a smoke after that fright', he said to himself. You may be sure that he did not blow any smoke rings, however! Smoke squares and smoke triangles aplenty, but no smoke rings. And later that evening, when wizard and Hobbit sat smoking together, every time Bilbo blew a smoke ring, Gandalf would quickly send a figure after it, a dragon that would fly through the smoky hoop, or a horse that would gallop through it. Indeed, if Gandalf could have contrived to do so, at meals he would have given the dishes rectangular shapes, and he would have squared the very walls of the hobbit-hole. But he could not, however, and so he had to satisfy himself with encouraging Bilbo to occupy himself entirely with making plans for the most extravagant party that had ever been held in the Shire.

While Gandalf was in the Shire coaching Bilbo with great tact and gentleness, his elven friends were still taking their ease at Fornost. Thanks to Tathar, all were housed quite comfortably, especially considering that they were camping in the ruins of an ancient city. Thanks to Edwen Nana, all were equally well fed. It should be mentioned that Edwen Nana also had washed and mended each and every one of their travel-stained garments. Caranlass had offered to help, but Edwen Nana waved her off.

"You are a newly-wed and shouldn't have to lift a finger. You'll be busy soon enough, I'll warrant, seeing as how you and Tathar have spent so much time in that private shelter he has devised."

Caranlass blushed, but she thought Edwen Nana's surmise was very likely a correct one.

With all the washing, Edwen Nana spent quite a lot of time on the banks of a nearby stream. From the tracks, it was plain that many animals came down to that stream to drink of its water. Most of the tracks she recognized, but there was one strange set.

"Now, that's an odd sort of an animal," she mused as, curious, she followed the trail for a bit. "Seems like a four-legged creature, but I would swear that two of its limbs end in mannish or elvish feet, whilst the other two limbs end in hands. A small creature it is, too, even smaller than a dwarf, I should think." It was noon-time, and the world was so bright and sunny that Edwen Nana did not fear to follow the trail even a little further. And so it was that she tracked the beast to its nest. Sleeping, it lay curled up in the shade of a bush. Edwen Nana regarded it with astonishment. It was the better part of naked, lacking as it did fur and being almost entirely devoid of garments. But Edwen Nana could see that it was not entirely naked. A bit of rag covered its naughty bits. It was not, she therefore concluded, altogether wild. It was also a 'he'. Moreover, he did indeed possess both hands and feet. Edwen Nana also saw that he had pointed ears. Elves, of course, had pointed ears, but this was no Elf. For one thing, he was much too small to be one of the Fair Folk. Edwen Nana knew that the creatures Gandalf had gone to visit also had pointed ears. Was this, she wondered, one of the fabled Periannath? True, from Gandalf's tales she had expected a more reputable-looking sort of being. This one did not have brass buttons on his coat—he had no coat at all!—and he did not look as if he ate even one dinner a day, let alone two whenever he could get them.

As she marveled at the creature, perhaps he sensed her presence. Suddenly he opened his eyes, which seemed too big for his famished face, and let out a wail of dismay.

"Lost, lost, we iss lost! A nassty Elf hass found uss, it hasss!"

The creature cowered and whimpered. Edwen Nana continued to regard him with frank interest, but she also tried to reassure him.

"I am an Elf," she acknowledged, "but I am not nasty. It's true that sometimes I am strict with younglings, but I like to think that I've never been unkind or cruel."

The creature stared at her no less warily, but he did cease whimpering. Encouraged, Edwen Nana went on.

"You poor, gangrel creature," she said sympathetically. "You look as if you haven't been fed properly in ages. Come to our camp, and I will find you somewhat to eat."

This offer of food softened the creature's expression considerably, but did not win him over altogether.

"We isss hungry," agreed the creature, nodding his head vigorously. "But we dasn't go near those nasty Elveses with their sharp swords. No! no! no! we stays in the bushes, we does. Safer in the bushes. And darker, too. We dasn't like the bright face. No, we dasn't. Hurts our eyeses, it does."

"I am sure," Edwen Nana coaxed, "that no Elf would hurt you. And, look, it is beginning to cloud over. The sun is not as bright as it was only a little while ago."

"No! no! no!" The creature shook his head even more vigorously than before.

"Very well, then, I will fetch you something to eat."

"You won't fetch the Elveses," asked the creature anxiously, "the Elveses with their sharp, poky swords?"

"I promise you that I will not," said Edwen Nana.

"You swears?"

"I swears," replied Edwen Nana. She was torn between laughter at the creature's droll manner and pity at his wretchedness.

The creature still looked suspicious, but he sat back on his haunches as if prepared to wait. Edwen Nana hurried back to the stream, retrieved her bundle of laundry, and returned to the camp. At the cooking fire, she filled a bowl with stew, and then, bowl in one hand, spoon in another, she hastened back to the bush where the creature had been hiding. Somewhat to her surprise, he had not fled, and when she proffered the bowl of stew, he snatched it from her hand. The spoon, however, the creature ignored. Instead, he raised the bowl to his mouth and greedily and loudly slurped down its contents. When he had finished, Edwen Nana tried to draw him out a little.

"My name is Nana," she began. "What is your name?"

The creature made a gurgling sound in his throat.

"Haven't you a name?"

Again the creature made a gurgling noise.

"If you don't have a name, I shall have to give you one."

"Isss our name," said the creature, and then he made the gurgling noise again.

"That sound is your name?"

The creature nodded.

"But that's not a proper name!"

"It suits usss, it doesss," the creature said sullenly. "Fits, yesss, fits uss."

"But tell me truly, did your mother give you that name?"

At this the creature's eyes filled with tears.

"No! no! no! no mother. We dasn't have a mother. Dasn't have a father. Dasn't have a cousin. No, no cousin. Dasn't have one."

The creature vigorously shook his head.

"No cousin. Dasn't have one. Never had one. Not never."

"It is true," said Edwen Nana, highly puzzled, "that not everyone has a cousin. If neither your mother nor your father had siblings, then of course you will have no cousins. And it is possible that a person would never know his father. But you must have had a mother, if only for a little while. Didn't she name you? I would be very surprised if she didn't!"

Perhaps it was the gentleness of her voice, so unlike any voice he had heard in ages. The creature's eyes cleared momentarily, and without cringing he looked directly into Edwen Nana's eyes, wherein his own face was reflected.

"Smeagol."

"Smeagol," she repeated, delighted. "That's a lovely name."

He continued to stare into the mirror of her eyes. At last he dropped his gaze.

"Dasn't like it," he said. "Too much like the other. Rhymes with it, it doesss."

"Rhymes with it?" said Edwen Nana, once again puzzled. "What do you mean? What does it rhyme with?"

Smeagol shook his head gloomily.

"Will alwayss be Gollum, we will."

"But your name is Smeagol!"

"Was Smeagol," he whispered. "Not no more. Not never."

Feeling great pity for the creature, Edwen Nana held out her hand to him. On it she bore a ring, a trifle really, one of the favors given out at the feast in celebration of Tathar and Caranlass' wedding. Smeagol startled at the sight of it.

"Ring," he hissed.

"Yes, a ring. Do you like it? You may have it if you wish."

Edwen Nana began to pull the ring from her finger.

"Dasn't want it," said Smeagol/Gollum. "We wants the other one, we does."

"The other one? I'm sorry," said Edwen Nana, "but I don't have another one. I don't generally wear jewelry, so I have only the one ring."

"The One Ring!" howled Gollum, suddenly banging his head against the ground. "The One Ring! We wants it, we doessss. We wants it!"

Vainly Edwen Nana tried to calm him, but he only shrieked the louder. Suddenly Tathar, drawn by his cries, sprang through the bushes, sword drawn.

"No!" shouted Edwen Nana. "He is harmless. He carries no weapon."

Tathar settled for seizing the creature with his free hand. Gollum, however, immediately proved to be not altogether harmless. His teeth were scanty but sharp, and he sank them into the wrist of Tathar's sword arm.

"Ow," howled Tathar. "The beast bit me!"

In his pain, he lost his grip on Gollum, who immediately opened his mouth and sprang clear of the Elf. Scuttling on all fours, he vanished into the scrub.

"What _was_ that creature?" Tathar gasped, nursing his wrist. "In all my days in Middle-earth, I have never seen anything like it!"

"Perhaps," said Edwen Nana tartly, "you have never seen anything like it because it wasn't an 'it'. It was a 'he'. His name is Smeagol."

"Fine," said Tathar, equally acerbic. "He is a 'he', and he is Smeagol. Now perhaps you will condescend to tell me what he was."

"I don't know," admitted Edwen Nana to Tathar and the other Elves who had now joined them. "At first I thought he was a Perian, but he didn't much resemble those folk as Mithrandir has described them. He did have pointed ears and was small in size, even smaller than a dwarf; but he wasn't stout, and he didn't have a head of curly hair. In dress, manner, and speech, he also did not remind me of Mithrandir's tales of the Periannath."

"I should say not," Tathar muttered. His wrist still pained him.

Edwen Nana's manner softened.

"I _am_ sorry, Tathar," she said contritely. "I didn't mean for you to be injured."

Now it was Tathar's turn to feel contrite.

"I'm not badly hurt, Nana."

"Would you like me to see to your wrist?" offered Edwen Nana. "No," she quickly corrected herself. "Caranlass will want to do that."

"Caranlass," said that very person, stepping forward from amongst the other Elves, "would indeed like to tend to Tathar's wrist, but she would very much appreciate it if you, Edwen Nana, would oversee her. I am a novice at this sort of thing, Nana, whilst you have had years—decades!—of experience."

Smiling gratefully at Caranlass, Edwen Nana accompanied her and Tathar back to the camp, and looked on, offering only an occasional word of advice, as Caranlass bathed and bandaged her husband's wrist.

Everyone kept a sharp eye out for Edwen Nana's creature, but no fresh tracks were spotted during the remainder of the fortnight that they waited at Fornost for the return of Gandalf. At the conclusion of that time, a familiar voice was heard singing from afar.

"Here comes Mithrandir," observed Legolas to Gilglîr.

"Aye," said the Seneschal, "and he persists in thinking that he can sing."

"Well, he _can_ sing," retorted Legolas. "He is doing it now."

"Oh, is _that_ what he is doing?"

Legolas swiped playfully at the Seneschal and then walked forward to greet his old friend.

"Mithrandir, mae govannen," he called as he drew near the wizard. "Did your business in the Shire go well?" he added as he fell into step beside the Istar.

"Very well, indeed. I think we shall see some movement shortly."

Legolas shook his head.

"Always trying to set things in motion. I hope you know, Mithrandir, that once you set things in motion, you can't always be sure of controlling them."

"I am quite aware of that, Legolas, but if we wait until the other side sets things in motion, then we may have even less hope of controlling matters."

"I suppose there is some wisdom in what you say," conceded Legolas.

"You _suppose_. _You_ suppose," said Gandalf, bowing in mock gratitude. "Thank you very much! I hope you remember that I am your elder. In comparison with me, you are naught but a whelp."

"A whelp! Exactly how old are you anyway? Isn't it possible that I am older than you?"

"Perhaps in years," said Gandalf loftily, "but not in wisdom."

They had reached Gilglîr, who was grinning ferociously.

"Whelp," he mouthed at Legolas, who pretended to scowl.

"How have you fared these past two weeks," Gandalf continued. "Has anything of note occurred?"

"Well," said Gilglîr, "it turned out that a great deal of filth had accumulated in Fornost."

"Not surprising," observed Gandalf, "as the city is in ruins."

"Ah, but this filth consisted of about forty Orcs."

"Orcs," exclaimed Gandalf in dismay. "So many? And so near the Shire? My dear Legolas, I may have put things in motion not a moment too soon!"

"That may be true, Mithrandir," said Gilglîr, "but at least these Orcs no longer represent a threat. Under the leadership of the whelp—ah, the prince—they were all slain forthwith. We had some help from Caranlass in that endeavor," he added.

Gandalf was too troubled by the news that Orcs had drawn so near to notice the comment about Caranlass.

"Has anything else untoward transpired during my absence?"

"This may be of little moment," replied Legolas, "but Edwen Nana did stumble over a curious beast. When Tathar tried to capture it, it bit him and he lost his hold on it."

"A curious beast? In what way was it curious?"

"Edwen Nana got the best look at it. I'll fetch her."

In short order, Edwen Nana appeared and began to describe the creature. As she spoke, Gandalf grew more and more agitated.

"A smallish creature," he muttered. "Hands and feet but crawls in lieu of walking upright. Pointed ears. Nana! Did this creature have a name?"

"Two, Mithrandir. At first he told me his name was 'Gollum', but by and by I was able to make out that he had once been called 'Smeagol'."

"Smeagol, eh? That information may come in handy. Thank you. And now, Edwen Nana, may I trouble you to replenish my pack with such foodstuffs as can be spared."

"You're not off again!"

"I am. As soon as may be I must track this creature. Things have indeed been set in motion, and it will be long ere I once again sleep in a bed."

"But a tent, Mithrandir, only a tent," cried Edwen Nana, distressed.

"No tent for me," said Mithrandir firmly.

Gandalf could not be dissuaded, and in less than an hour the wizard was once again disappearing into the scrub. But this time he was not singing.


	65. Departure Upon Departure

**_Dragonfly:_ Yes, Edwen Nana is such a nurturing creature that, if she came upon the Dark Lord himself, wounded and helpless, she would probably wash and mend his clothes and feed him a good dinner before slaying him.**

_Legosgurl_: The flu! The flu! Here's a very, very old limerick to cheer you up: "A flea and a fly in a flue / Were imprisoned, so what could they do. / Said the fly, 'let us flee'. / Said the flea, 'Let us fly'. / So they flew through a flaw in the flue." Not too surprisingly, there is an influenza variation: "A flea and a fly had the 'flu. / They neither knew what to do. / Said the fly, 'let us flee'. / Said the flea, 'Let us fly'. / So they flew through a flaw in the flue." (from Eileen Pettigrew, _The Silent Enemy: Canada and the Deadly Flu of 1918_, via Joan Champ, "The Impact of the Spanish Influenza Epidemic on Saskatchewan Farm Families, 1918-1919.") Try chanting the limerick repeatedly (either version). Either it will distract you from your discomfort, or it will drive you crazy. Either way, it will take your mind off the flu. Seriously, though, I hope you feel better immediately, if not sooner.

**_Terreis_****: Yes, things are indeed coming to a head. I think you are quite right about Gollum: it is impossible to escape the idea that things could have turned out differently. I think Tolkien would have been comfortable with that thought, because, after all, look at the kinship between Gollum and Frodo. Frodo knows he could be Gollum, and at the very end he _is_. Were it not for Gollum's inadvertent help, the Ring would never have been destroyed. **

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfl_y, who caught a _lot_ of errors in this one. Thank you for spotting them, _Dragonfly_.**

**Chapter 65: Departure Upon Departure**

After Gandalf's hasty departure, there was no reason for the Elves to remain at Fornost.

"The day is far gone," observed Legolas, "so we will not break camp immediately. But tomorrow we will resume our journey."

They occupied themselves for the remainder of the day with packing up all that they would not need that very night. Then they sat relaxed about the various campfires. Gilglîr joined Legolas at his, and they talked idly about the various events that had transpired in the course of the last few weeks. Suddenly Gilglîr sat up, tense and alert.

"Something approaches from the east," hissed Gilglîr. "Perhaps the creature has returned."

Legolas listened carefully. He shook his head.

"The creature was smaller than a Dwarf. Whoever approaches has a tread as heavy as that of a Man."

"Or an Orc," Gilglîr said grimly, reaching for his bow.

"No, the gait is unlike that of an Orc. It is most surely a Man. Let us not be too quick with our weapons."

Nevertheless, Legolas picked up his own bow as he arose and took a step away from the fire before calling out a challenge.

"Halt! State your name and your purpose in approaching our camp."

"I am a Man of these parts," replied a deep voice, "and although you challenge me, you cannot say the same for yourself." The possessor of this voice stepped into the light cast by the fire.

"Estel!" exclaimed Legolas, lowering his bow.

The Ranger grimaced a little.

"Aragorn, if you please."

"E-stel e-stel e-stel," chanted Legolas.

Aragorn shrugged resignedly.

"Oh, well, I suppose Estel is better than some of the names I have been called."

"Such as?"

"Longshanks. Stick-at-naught Strider. That sort of thing."

Legolas surveyed him up and down.

"You look terrible," he said frankly.

Aragorn returned the favor.

"One of your braids is longer than the other," the Dúnadan announced triumphantly after minutely scrutinizing his friend.

"It's the latest style," Legolas shot back.

"No, it's not," retorted Aragorn. "Elves are all about symmetry, pattern, and balance."

Legolas ignored him.

"You still haven't explained what you are doing here," the Elf said. "The last I heard, you were heading for Rohan."

"I have been to Rohan—aye, and to Gondor as well. I have returned to seek out Gandalf, for I believe he would be interested in hearing what I have to say. I was told by the Lady Galadriel that he was on his way to the Shire, and I was making for that place when I encountered one of my kinsmen, who had acquired a nasty gash on his head courtesy of some Orcs. I have been seeking those goblins in order to requite them for their treatment of my cousin. I would not have been surprised if I had received rough treatment at _their_ hands, but I certainly wasn't expecting an _elvish_ inquisition!"

"No one ever does," grinned Legolas. "But I am afraid I must convey to you news that will gravely disappoint you. You will not be able to exact vengeance on behalf of your kinsman. It is my duty to inform you that we have already slain said Orcs—unless, of course, there are two bands lurking about."

"Not very likely," said Aragorn, shaking his head. "I tracked them to this very spot, only to find it occupied by Fair Folk. Well, thank you for saving me a great deal of trouble. I would have had to pick them off one by one from cover, and it would have been slow work. Doubtless your company was able to make much quicker work of them than I could have."

"Oh, yes, we made _very_ quick work of them, especially as we had the aid of our newest warrior, who is able to disarm ten Orcs at once. So you see, our task was quite a simple one."

"Ten Orcs disarmed at once! I must meet this warrior."

"Certainly. Tathar," Legolas said, turning to the carpenter, "summon the other red-haired warrior, would you?"

A little while later, Tathar returned in the company of Caranlass.

"Lord Aragorn," said Tathar, "allow me to introduce you to my wife, Caranlass."

Aragorn had already had much practice at concealing his emotions, but surprise flickered in his eyes. When he spoke, however, his voice revealed nothing but respect for a fellow warrior.

"I take it, then, that you are the red-haired warrior who can disarm ten Orcs at once."

Caranlass inclined her head.

"I am, my Lord."

"I am disarmed by you as well, my Lady."

"Careful, Aragorn," laughed Legolas. "Tathar himself stands ready to disarm _you_ if you find his wife too disarming."

"Ai!" replied Aragorn in mock distress. "I am unmanned at the thought."

"If that is so, then you are quite safe from me," said Tathar, smiling.

Just then an elleth even more formidable than Caranlass appeared on the scene. This was of course Edwen Nana, who had been to the stream to fetch water.

"Estel! Little Estel!"

Now, in point of fact, 'little Estel' was several inches taller than Edwen Nana, but this made no difference to Edwen Nana, to whom all those whom she had mothered would be forevermore 'little'.

"Where ever have you gotten yourself to?" she exclaimed, surveying him up and down with a critical air. "You look terrible!"

Legolas stifled a laugh, but he winked at Aragorn, who looked very distressed. The Ranger knew what was coming next.

"Now," Edwen Nana continued briskly, "you must come down to the stream with me straightaway. Whilst you bathe, I shall wash those grubby clothes of yours."

"Um, Edwen Nana, I only have the one set."

"That is no objection to bathing, Estel, and you know it. You may wrap yourself in a blanket whilst your clothes dry."

"I'll fetch a blanket straightaway," Legolas offered helpfully. Aragorn glared at him, but the prince looked back at him with an expression that was provokingly innocent. Aragorn gave up the battle but attempted to set terms.

"Edwen Nana, I will bathe, but I don't need any help."

"Very well, but if you don't do the job properly, you shall have to bathe all over again—and then I _will_ superintend."

Aragorn assured her that he would be very thorough in his ablutions. Taking a blanket and a bowl of soap, he went down to the stream. He was careful to keep his promise, for when he returned he fairly glowed in his new state of cleanliness.

"Why, Aragorn," teased Legolas, "I do believe your hair is several shades lighter."

"And if it is, all the worse for me," retorted Aragorn, smiling, "for now I shall no longer blend in with the scenery."

"Ah, so that is why you keep yourself so grubby—it's a form of camouflage."

"Truly, there have been occasions when it has so served," Aragorn assured him, only half in jest. "You ascend a tree and are not seen; I throw myself upon the earth, and a legion of Orcs marches by unwittingly."

"Gives a new meaning to 'gone to ground'," joked Legolas.

"Yes," laughed Aragorn. "Yes, I suppose it does." Then he grew serious.

"Now, tell me, Legolas, what brings you to these parts? Were you tracking the same band of Orcs as I pursued?"

"No, we were returning from a visit to the Grey Havens and encountered them by accident."

"What errand took you to the Grey Havens?"

"My father sent me there in hopes that I would marry Círdan's niece."

"Círdan's niece?"

"Caranlass."

"Oh ho! King Thranduil will be in for a bit of shock when not his son but his carpenter returns espoused to Círdan's niece!"

"Yes, it is a bit of a check to his plan to marry me off, but it won't discourage him for long. He'll draw up another list of eligible ellith straightaway. With your leave, however, I'll tell him that he must leave Arwen off the list."

Lacking its usual protective coloration, Aragorn's skin shone a bright red as the Ranger blushed.

"You spoke to Arwen?" he mumbled.

"Yes. When I visited Imladris, it was generally rumored that I, the prince of Northern Mirkwood, was to be espoused to the daughter of Elrond. Arwen spoke to me to set my mind at rest that this was not her design."

Aragorn looked immensely relieved. He was not unaware of the fact that some would see Legolas as the most suitable match for the Lady Arwen. Apparently Legolas did not find such an alliance to be appealing. That was good to know.

Legolas divined his mind and smiled.

"Aragorn, I think you will find that your friends and kinsman, such of them as know of this proposed match, are well-disposed toward it. Elladan and Elrohir are a case in point. They were surprised to learn of it, yes, but soon saw that it was right and just. Even Elrond has no objection to you personally. It is merely that he is mindful of what must ensue as a result of the match."

"Yes," said Aragorn sadly, "and it grieves me that I must cause him pain."

Legolas shook his head.

"Wistfulness, yes, but not pain. For he is Arwen's father, and in the end, if she finds joy, then he cannot help but be happy for her. For consider, Aragorn, do you really believe that Arwen would embrace you if she thought that by doing so she would cause her father irremediable sorrow? For if it would grieve you to cause him pain, then how much more so would it grieve her!"

"Do you really believe this?" Aragorn asked hopefully.

"Yes," his friend replied firmly. "Elrond will test you—he will test her—to be sure that this marriage is more than a passing fancy, but when he is certain, then not only will he step aside, he will offer you his blessing."

Aragorn smiled gratefully at his friend. Just then Edwen Nana came up.

"Well," she said briskly, "I have washed your garments, and when they are dry, I shall mend them."

"Oh, no, Edwen Nana," Aragorn protested. "I must be on my way. I cannot stay until my clothes have been mended."

"Too bad," said Edwen Nana airily, "as I don't plan to return them to you until all the rents have been repaired. So, unless you plan to go off scouting in the altogether, you'll just have to rest here until I have finished with them. As no doubt you have been eating poorly, the stay will do you good, for it shall allow you to partake of several decent meals before you return to gadding about in the wild."

With that the indomitable nursemaid strolled off. Aragorn shrugged helplessly, while Legolas rolled on the ground laughing in a rather inelegant fashion.

"Oh, Aragorn," he gasped. "If we could only somehow introduce Edwen Nana into Barad-dûr, I'm sure she would set things to rights in no time at all!"

Aragorn grinned at the thought of the Dark Lord cowering before a forthright elleth armed with a brush and a bowl of soap. He could just imagine the sort of admonitions that she would utter. 'You had better clean your teeth before you open your mouth to threaten _me_'—yes, that was a sample of what she would say to the nonplussed Dark Lord and his minions. Aragorn joined Legolas in his laughter.

"Legolas, my friend, I can just see her glaring balefully at anyone who came at her. She would say to the poor creature, 'You had better not be planning to slice me up with such a filthy sword—you go and polish it this instant!'"

"Yes, that _is_ the sort of thing she'd say," agreed Legolas. "Do you know, but lately there was an odd sort of creature skulking in the vicinity of this camp, and Edwen Nana at once set out to mother it. She didn't tell anyone of its presence, and she brought it food. She planned to continue to keep us in the dark so that she would have time to nurse it properly. I asked her what she had meant to do, and she said that, besides feeding it, she was going to try to bathe it, and to prevail upon it to accept a new breech clout if she couldn't contrive to clothe it altogether. But its wails attracted Tathar, and then it took fright and ran off."

Aragorn sobered instantly.

"Describe this creature to me."

"I didn't see it myself, Aragorn, but I understand it had pointed ears like an Elf, and hands and feet like any of the Free Folk, although it moved about on all fours like an animal. It was very thin and small, smaller even than a Dwarf."

"Did it have a name?" Aragorn asked sharply.

"Two, apparently. Gollum and Smeagol."

"That is a creature that Gandalf has been seeking for many years," Aragorn said, his voice low and intense.

"Yes, and when Mithrandir heard that it had been here shortly before his arrival, he left at once to follow after it."

Aragorn uttered a very nasty word in Black Speech.

"Aragorn!"

"My pardon, Legolas," Aragorn said hastily. "Do you know where Edwen Nana would have laid out my clothes to dry?"

"Yes, on the bushes near the stream."

"I pray you, slip over to those bushes and fetch my garments."

"They will still be very wet, Aragorn."

"It can't be helped. I must leave at once. I must find Gandalf before he finds the creature—or the creature finds him! I have been gathering news of Gollum in every land through which he has traveled. Gollum is very dangerous."

"And so is Mithrandir. I am sure that he is more than a match for such a pathetic being."

Aragorn shook his head vigorously.

"You are wrong, my friend. Gollum would slip up on Gandalf whilst he slept and grip him by the throat before he was ever aware. His magic would be useless because he would never have a chance to ply it."

Impressed by the urgency in the Ranger's voice, Legolas leapt to his feet.

"I will be back shortly," he promised, slipping at once into the scrub.

True to his word, a little while later he returned with Aragorn's clothes. Aragorn moved out of the circle of light cast by the fire and pulled them on, shivering and gasping as he did so.

"My boots, Legolas," he called softly, his teeth chattering.

Just then Edwen Nana approached the campfire bearing two bowls of stew.

"Where is Estel?" she asked suspiciously.

"Just stepped into the bushes to make water," Legolas replied. "Really, Edwen Nana, I do think he can manage to do _that_ without supervision."

"Hmmph!" muttered Edwen Nana as if she doubted the truth of that assertion. However, she left the two bowls with Legolas and returned to the cooking fire. Legolas quickly carried both the boots and a bowl into the scrub. Aragorn pulled on his boots and then hastily wolfed down the stew whilst Legolas went back for the rest of the Ranger's kit. When he returned with the gear, Aragorn belted on his sword, shrugged on his pack and bedroll, and slipped on his quiver. Then picking up his bow, he bade farewell to his friend.

"Stay well, Legolas."

Trying to speak lightly, Legolas replied with a jest.

"That will be hard for me to do, my friend, for you are leaving me to face the wrath of Edwen Nana on my own!"

Aragorn smiled thinly, nodded slightly, and vanished into the scrub.


	66. Possessed

**Folks, I'm disappearing for a few days (work-related). _Yarrie_, don't google me and come after me if the next chapter doesn't appear expeditiously!**

**_Dragonfly _:**** Yes, Edwen Nana is going to be highly indignant when she learns of Aragorn's 'escape'. She will be particularly upset that he ran off wearing damp clothes, and will no doubt go on and on about how he was going to catch his death running around like that!**

**_Terreis:_ And I've obviously watched the movies too many times because I put lines like that in there in the first place! Thank you for your compliments about Legolas and Aragorn's conversation about how Edwen Nana would 'clean up' the Orcs, so to speak, as well as your comments on their conversation about Arwen.**

**_Legosgurl_****: You've almost finished your chapter! Ah, good. Remember I said that I would be happy to give it a beta reading.**

**_Chrys_: Yes, you are right; that was an intentional reference to Monty Python and the famous 'Spanish inquisition' sketches. Yes, the fact that Aragorn's clothes were wet will particularly exercise both Edwen Nana's indignation and her tongue.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_**

**Chapter 66: Possessed**

Aragorn had no difficulty in picking up Gandalf's trail. The wizard was not trying to hide his tracks, and even if he had been, he probably wouldn't have been able to do so. For all his years in Middle-earth, Gandalf still had not developed much in the way of wood-craft. Of course, Aragorn reflected, Gandalf had been given the guise of agéd wizard, not that of a Ranger far younger in years. 'And', said Aragorn to himself, 'as I have mastered little magic, I could hardly upbraid Gandalf if he has failed to master _my_ trade'.

On Aragorn sped, taking full advantage of a trail that was plain to see. Only with the setting of the moon did Aragorn halt to rest for several hours. As soon as the sun arose, he resumed the hunt. He could not shake his fear that Gollum would do Gandalf an injury if the wizard encountered the creature on his own.

Aragorn would have been far less concerned if he had stopped to consider that, although Aragorn could follow Gandalf with ease, the wizard himself could not track Gollum with equal facility. In fact, Gandalf's progress had ground nearly to a halt. At the moment, the wizard was not very far ahead of Aragorn, and he was contemplating with dismay a sheer cliff. It appeared from the marks that Gollum had climbed straight up the escarpment.

"I suppose," muttered Gandalf, "that I could try to circle around and find an easier approach and then pick up the trail again at the top. But I should lose so much time! No good! I shall just have to ascend this cliff, that's all!"

Resolute, Gandalf tucked his robe into his belt and began the ascent. He had scrambled up about a meter when Aragorn came upon the scene, but the wizard didn't hear the Ranger's approach because he was too busy muttering in frustration whilst hunting out handholds. Relieved to have found the wizard, Aragorn stopped to enjoy the show. Gandalf was of course heavier than Gollum, and handholds that had served for the creature's ascent crumbled away as soon as the wizard grasped them. Gandalf had perhaps succeeded in inching up another foot when the inevitable happened: the cliff face crumbled completely away beneath him, and he slid back to the base, losing his balance in the process and falling flat upon the earth. He ended up sprawled on his face, his oaths muffled by the dirt in his mouth. Aragorn tried but failed to stifle a laugh, which forced itself out in a sound rather like a snort. Gandalf raised his dust-streaked face and looked about for the source of the peculiar noise.

"Aragorn!" he exclaimed. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Only a few moments—just long enough to see your display of mountaineering expertise."

"_You_ try climbing in a robe and see how you like it! In fact, try doing _anything_ in a robe. The only part of the wizard outfit I detest more is that ridiculous pointed hat."

"By the way, where _is_ that ridiculous pointed hat?"

"Stuffed in my tunic, where it won't get in the way. I only wear it for effect, don't you know. If there's no audience to impress, I tuck it out of sight."

Both Aragorn and Gandalf were smiling as they bantered one with the other. Aragorn proffered his hand and helped Gandalf to his feet.

"Gandalf, you had better hope that Edwen Nana never sees your face in such a state. She will come after you with a brush of boar's bristles."

"You speak from personal experience, I'll warrant. But, Aragorn, you didn't come all this way just to subject me to your raillery. What brings you back from Rohan?"

"At first, merely to pass on news of that realm as well as of Gondor. But my search for you took on more urgency when I learned from Legolas that you had again gone off in pursuit of Gollum. Gandalf, for all his small size, that is a fell creature."

"Edwen Nana but lately encountered him, and he offered her no harm."

This brought a smile back to Aragorn's face, albeit a brief one.

"Gandalf, it would be a rare creature who ventured to do her a harm, but let us speak in all seriousness. This Gollum has left behind terrified folk wheresoever he has ventured. He slithers through the smallest embrasures and robs both nest and cradle."

Gandalf, for all his age and wisdom, could not suppress a shudder. Yet he recovered quickly.

"Whatever Gollum has done, there is still a Smeagol somewhere within his person. I suspect Edwen Nana caught a glimpse of that being. But even were that not true, it is still necessary that Gollum be captured. He knows much, and we must learn what he can tell us."

"True, but you are going about it the wrong way."

"I am no tracker," Gandalf retorted. "I never claimed to be."

"As that is the case, give over the task to someone who is."

Gandalf unwound a little when he realized what Aragorn was saying.

"If I understand you aright, you are offered to take on the task of tracking and capturing Gollum."

"I am."

"Excellent!"

Aragorn burst into laughter at the expression upon the wizard's face.

"Gandalf, you look as excited as a child who has been left unguarded in a pantry!"

"Well, and can you blame me? This Gollum has been the bane of my existence ever since I learned the truth about a Hobbit's acquisition of, well, his acquisition of _something_."

"Ah, once again the Great Mystery. Whenever am I to be trusted with it?"

Gandalf considered briefly and then plunged ahead.

"I believe that you will soon need to know what I have to say. All signs point in that direction. Estel, my boy—you do know why you were given that name, don't you?"

"To protect me from those who believed that the bloodline of Isildur's heir had utterly perished from the face of Middle-earth. Indeed, you have told me that some so hate the memory of Isildur that they would not hesitate to slay a female child if they believed her to carry even one drop of his blood."

"Yes, to protect you, but think on the meaning of that elvish name."

"'Estel'? It means 'hope'."

"Aye, and you understand why that name was chosen and not some other?"

Aragorn smiled.

"It is rather childishly obvious, isn't it? I am the 'hope' for the restoration of Westernesse, of Arnor as well as Gondor. It is so plain that is hardly needs saying."

"And what is the antithesis of 'hope'?"

"Despair, I suppose."

"Yes, and Gollum may be the servant of that Despair. He may carry with him knowledge of a tool that, if ever wielded by the Enemy, will cast all of us into a pit of darkness so deep that there will never be any hope of our clambering up from its depths."

Aragorn regarded Gandalf with deep astonishment and some skepticism.

"Come now, Gandalf, that is saying much for a scrawny creature that, while vicious, has no power beyond the length of his arms."

"You are wrong. He has power that extends far beyond his reach. He has a tongue. You must always remember, Aragorn, that the power of a voice is never to be underestimated. Gollum knows something. And should he speak and share his knowledge with the wrong sort—I fear he already has!—the results could blast your hope, my hope—the hope of all of Middle-earth!"

Aragorn was left speechless. He gazed wonderingly at the wizard, waiting to be told more. Gandalf calmed himself slightly and continued.

"It would seem a small matter to many, but Gollum once possessed a ring—or a ring possessed him. This same ring is now in the keeping of one Bilbo Baggins, a Halfling who happened upon it blindly as he sought for an escape from a cavern in the Misty Mountains into which he and his companions had been carried by goblins."

"A ring?"

"Yes, a ring. A ring such as you possess, the Ring of Barahir, has power of a sort—the power to remind its wearer of his heritage and duty. And it has power over those who see that is worn by one who has a claim upon their allegiance and their swords. But Gollum's ring—Bilbo's, I mean—may have power of another sort. Aragorn, I fear, I fear"—and here Gandalf lowered his voice—"I fear it is the One Ring."

Aragorn would have been incredulous had Gandalf's manner not been so fearful, for fearfulness had never before been betrayed on the countenance of the wizard.

"The One Ring," Aragorn repeated softly. "The Ring that seduced Isildur and then betrayed him to his death." Then louder he said, and almost angrily, "If you think so, then why have you not seized it?"

"Seized it?" said Gandalf pointedly. "Seized it! I hope you are not altogether Isildur's heir, to speak so!"

Aragorn lowered both his eyes and his voice.

"I am sorry," he said softly. "I spoke precipitously, without thinking."

"Aye, and that's the point, isn't it? We must do nothing precipitously, nothing without thinking. And nothing without being sure. Which brings us back to Gollum."

"But, Gandalf," interrupted Aragorn, "can you not go to the Perian, explain the situation, and beg of him the Ring?"

"Have you heard nothing I have said?" Gandalf chided him. "I am not sure that it is the One Ring."

"But what harm would it do, sure or not sure? If the Ring proved to be naught but a bauble, could you not return it to him?"

"And if it proved to be the One Ring, what then?"

"Why, it would be in good hands."

"I think not," said Gandalf, so quietly that Aragorn could scarcely hear him. Then louder, "Would _you_ want to have the keeping of the Ring? The Ring possessed by you—and you possessed by it?"

Aragorn considered carefully. "No," he said finally. "No, I would not."

Gandalf had sat tensely, awaiting his answer. Now he exhaled, and his shoulders slumped a little.

"I am glad to see," he said wearily, as if he himself had been going through a struggle, "I am glad to see that you are _not_ altogether Isildur's heir."

"And whose heir are _you_?" asked Aragorn, in an awkward attempt to force a touch of playfulness into a conversation that had begun in bantering and ended in serious self-reflection—_deadly_ serious, and that literally.

"Sauron's, I hope," replied Gandalf, trying to reply with equal lightheartedness. His humor was no less forced than Aragorn's, however, and in response the Dúnadan once more grew serious.

"No, truly, whose heir are you?"

"You ask as if you think I should know."

"Don't you?"

Gandalf shrugged.

"I have some ideas on the matter."

"But you don't _know_?"

"One could argue that nothing can be known for sure if one is not present as a witness. As I was not present at my own begetting, then I can say that I do not know."

Aragorn was not put off by Gandalf's evasiveness.

"Yet you say with certainty that I am Isildur's heir. How can you make that claim?" he challenged.

"Ah, well, if witnesses _were_ present—reliable witnesses—who could pass on the tale, then one might have reasonable certainty. But as I have been abruptly deposited upon Middle-earth—not my original venue, you may be sure!—I haven't access to any witnesses to, or tales of, my engendering and heritage."

"Doesn't that trouble you?"

Gandalf gave another shrug.

"Would it matter if it did?"

"I suppose it would make no difference in how you went about your business."

"No, it wouldn't, and as it makes no difference, I generally don't waste time thinking about it."

Aragorn noticed, but did not comment upon, Gandalf's use of the word 'generally'.

'So he does think about it occasionally', he said to himself. 'However, as he plainly prefers not to discuss it at the moment, I had better drop the matter for now'. At that point Gandalf himself introduced a new topic.

"How did you fare in Rohan?"

"I believe the name 'Thorongil' now commands some respect in that land—except in the case of Gríma son of Gríma."

Gandalf groaned.

"Will there be no end of the malign influence of that family? Every time I visit Edoras, I find a member of that family entrenched at the side of the king."

Aragorn nodded grimly.

"And from what I have been able to glean, Gandalf, the influence of this latest Gríma exceeds that of the last."

Gandalf's nod was as grim as Aragorn's.

"Ever has it been so. The power of that clan has grown greater over the years."

"I marvel that the king endures their obsequious ways."

"The family's connection with the royal family goes back many generations. It is hard to detach their claws from the person of the king. Moreover, those folk know how to file their tongues pleasingly. Truly, Aragorn, I fear lest the day come when a king will be bewitched by the words of a Gríma."

"Gandalf, it is true that Gríma possesses a sweet tongue, but I marvel that he has the wit to wield it as he does. I misdoubt that someone feeds him the words that he utters."

Gandalf looked gravely concerned.

"You believe him to be the mouthpiece of an outside force—Sauron, perhaps?"

"It must be considered. Certainly Gríma does not have the interests of Rohan at heart."

"I shall try to pay more frequent visits to Edoras," muttered Gandalf. "It would be a serious blow if Gondor could no longer count on Rohan for the defense of its northern frontier."

"Yes, it would indeed be a serious blow. I think Gondor soon will need all the allies it can muster."

"Why do you believe this to be so?"

"Whilst I was in Gondor, Orcs and their Haradrim allies were making increasing feints in order to test the land's defenses."

Gandalf looked even more gravely concerned.

"It is as I feared," he said. "It has awoken."

Aragorn did not ask what 'it' was, for he had a notion that he already understood.


	67. A Blow To The Gut

**_Zergy_****: Yes, it would be interesting to write a story that explores the dynamics of the shifting 'age' relationship between Legolas and Aragorn—Legolas years older chronologically but Aragorn becoming 'older' in terms of the conventions governing the stages of life.**

**_Grumpy:_ I am sure that as we speak (so to speak), Edwen Nana is busily stitching up a spare set of clothes for her little Estel.**

**_Legosgurl_****: Have you sent the chapter yet? If you have, it has gotten Lost in (Cyber) Space. (Ever so often I receive a message sent _months_ earlier! Computers are great—when they work!)**

_Dragonfly:_ Oh, _you_ know where I will lead him—into trouble!

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_**

**Chapter 67: A Blow to the Gut**

The day after Aragorn's brief visit to their encampment, the Mirkwood Elves resumed their journey eastward, making for Rivendell, keeping, as they had planned, well to the north of both Hobbit and human settlements. This meant that they were riding through wastelands where they might encounter Trolls and other perils, but they apprehended no danger.

"We are a large company, and well-armed," observed Legolas to Gilglîr. "Besides," the Prince added jokingly, "we are accompanied by Edwen Nana, and she is itching for an opportunity to wreak vengeance upon whomever is unfortunate enough to get in her way."

This was true. Edwen Nana had been highly indignant when she learned that Aragorn had made good his escape. She had actually seized hold of Legolas' ear and hauled him yelping through the camp. The other Mirkwood Elves, all save Gilglîr and Tathar, had watched this performance open-mouthed. No one had ever dared to treat their Prince so. Gilglîr and Tathar, however, had collapsed upon the ground, laughing so hard that each had developed a severe case of the hiccoughs. This of course immediately brought an end to Edwen Nana's rampage, for she knew of several cures for hiccoughs, all of them silly (as such cures generally are), and she immediately proceeded to apply each and every one of them to the two unfortunate sufferers. As Caranlass observed wryly, it was very difficult to believe that there was an Elf among them, so inelegant was their behavior on this occasion.

Now, thinking back on Edwen Nana's wrathfulness, Legolas unconsciously rubbed his ear. Tathar caught him at it, and broke into a grin.

"Legolas, I do believe that your ear is not as pointed as it formerly was."

"Tathar," Caranlass chided her spouse, "you shouldn't tease Legolas!"

"Oh, I am used to it," sighed Legolas, putting on a long-suffering expression.

"Aye, and he can give as good as he gets," Gilglîr chimed in, "as I have reason to know."

General laughter all around, which provoked Edwen Nana, who was ahead of them in the column, to twist around and look at them reprovingly.

"You are all scamps," she called, "and you, Gilglîr, are old enough to know better!"

"Odd," teased Gilglîr, "Mithrandir is quite the scamp, and you don't seem to mind _him_."

"Mithrandir," retorted Edwen Nana, "is a Man, and therefore allowances must be made for his peculiar behavior. But don't think I'm going to start making allowances for _you_."

"Pity," said Gilglîr, "as I rather envy Mithrandir the 'allowances' you have made for him."

"Careful," warned Legolas, "or you will be the next one to have your ear wrung!"

The direction the conversation was now taking was causing Tathar and Caranlass to gaze longingly one upon the other. Fortunately, while the Elves had been engaging in this light-hearted raillery, they had drawn nigh to Weathertop, where they planned to camp that night. Soon they stood upon its summit and began to set up their shelters among the ruins, Tathar and Caranlass being careful to set up theirs so that several large blocks of stone stood between them and the other Elves.

The Elves had been hunting as they rode, and one of them had brought down a deer. The hunter skinned and dressed the carcass, portions of which were then delivered into the hands of Edwen Nana, who soon had dinner under way upon a cook fire kindled with the wood that, as usual, had been left neatly stacked by the previous inhabitants of that place, who had no doubt been Rangers. Before they departed, the Elves would of course replenish the woodpile, but it was nice to be able to prepare food at once, leaving the collecting of branches for later, when all were refreshed. It was a good system, really, although it depended upon trust and honesty. Occasionally a renegade Man would shelter at Weathertop, use up the wood, and move on without replacing it. However, this did not happen often enough to discourage those who usually frequented that place from adhering to the custom of leaving wood for the next sojourner.

After enjoying a most excellent supper, Tathar and Caranlass withdrew to their shelter and the rest of company lounged about their campfires.

"Ah," sighed Legolas contentedly, "how grand it is to be well-fed and comfortable, basking in the warmth of a fire, lying upon the greensward, gazing up at the glimmering stars."

Unfortunately, by waxing poetical, Legolas set Edwen Nana off again.

"I am glad _you_ are comfortable," she said tartly, "for I am sure _Estel_ is not!"

Legolas winced.

'Here we go again', he thought. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gilglîr slipping off to another campfire.

'Some friend', Legolas grumbled to himself, 'leaving me in the clutches of Edwen Nana!'

"He is probably huddled somewhere, shivering and hungry," the nursemaid was continuing. "Indeed, I should not be surprised if at this very moment he were suffering the agonies of pneumonia. To let him run off in _damp_ clothes! Couldn't you at least have given him a spare set of yours?"

"Aragorn is heavier and taller than I am, Nana. You know that nothing of mine would have fit him."

"I do _not_ know that," retorted Edwen Nana. "'Tis true the clothes might have been a little tight on him, but at least he would have been dry and warm."

"And I am sure," said Legolas sardonically, "that Aragorn will be delighted to be dry and warm when he finds himself unable to swing his sword freely because his clothing constricts him."

"Do not forget, young sir," said Edwen Nana sternly, "that you have another ear that I have not yet twisted. If I were you, I would not be so flippant!"

Edwen Nana continued to carry on in this fashion. Legolas seemed to be giving her his full attention, but as he gazed raptly at her, his eyes wide open, he allowed his mind to drift off into dreams. Suddenly he jerked back into consciousness. While he had been dreaming, something had drawn near, something evil.

"Be still," he commanded Edwen Nana, although not unkindly. Impressed by the intentness of his manner, she fell silent at once.

"Gilglîr," he urgently called to his Seneschal, "nad nâ ennas! Something is out there!"

"Quench the fires," ordered Gilglîr.

"No! Don't!" cried Legolas.

"Legolas, the fires cast light that will make it all too easy to target us."

"Only if our foes are Men—and they are not. Heap up the fires and stay close to them."

Just then, they heard two cries from without the stone circle—one deep and one higher in pitch.

"Tathar! Caranlass!" exclaimed Legolas. He drew his blades and vaulted over the blocks that stood between him and his friends. At the same time, Orcs came pouring into the camp from between the gaps in the ruined wall. Gilglîr found himself beset by goblins and unable to follow after his young Prince. With no time to draw a bow, the Seneschal seized a flaming brand in one hand and his sword in the other and tried desperately to fend off his attackers. All about him other scouts were doing likewise. There was no sign of Edwen Nana, and Gilglîr feared that she had fallen in the first wave of the assault.

When Legolas had vaulted over the blocks, he found on the other side a smashed shelter and three massive Orcs, taller and heavier than any he had ever encountered. As one, they charged at him, flailing huge swords that were oddly rectilinear, unlike the curved scimitars usually carried by goblins. For all his grace and speed, Legolas was hard put to defend himself from these oversized-Orcs. Keeping his back to the wall, he ducked a blow from the Orc to the front of him while parrying thrusts from Orcs to either side. On and on the combat dragged, one Elf battling against three foes, each taller and heavier than he. Legolas found himself panting.

'They are larger than any Orcs I have ever seen', he thought to himself, 'and they also move more quickly than ordinary goblins'.

He winced as one of the Orc blades sliced through the sleeve of his tunic, leaving a bloody gash in its wake, and he found himself hoping that one of his companions would make his way to him. From the clamoring on the other side of the wall, however, it appeared that it was all his friends could do to defend themselves. Legolas bit back a cry of pain as an Orc drove under his guard and slashed his thigh. The Elf staggered a little, and another one of his foes brought his weapon down hard upon Legolas' hand, knocking away one of his knives. Now with only one blade, the Elf confronted three sneering foes. Confident that they had him, the Orcs began to play, feinting at Legolas with their weapons and laughing as, weaving, he tried to fend them off. At last one of them decided that the game had gone on long enough. With a brutal blow, he knocked aside Legolas' remaining blade, and then he plunged his sword into the belly of his victim. For a moment, laughing, the Orc held the skewered Elf affixed upon his sword, and then he yanked out the weapon. Legolas collapsed onto the ground at the feet of his foe.  
With a leer, the Orc raised his sword to finish him off.

At that moment, an unseen creature let out a scream that would have frightened a Wraith. The Orc froze in mid-swing, and a figure barreled in from the left, crashing into the goblin. The Orc's head was snapped to the side from the force of the blow, and, his neck broken, he was dead before his body hit the ground. His executioner seized upon his abandoned sword, and, emitting another blood-curdling shriek, charged at the two remaining Orcs. Startled by the apparition, they reacted too slowly. One head went flying to the left, the other to the right, and two goblin torsos toppled over onto the blood-soaked ground.

The Orcs having been dispensed with, Edwen Nana knelt by Legolas' side. The prince groped for her hand, seized it, and held it tight. "Nana," he whimpered, suddenly an elfling once more. "Nana." The nursemaid smoothed his hair with her other hand and spoke soothingly.

"You must be brave, Laiqua. You must let go my hand, for I shall need both hands to tend to you."

Legolas nodded slightly and relaxed his grip enough for her to gently slip free her hand.

"Now then," she said, in calm voice meant to reassure him, "I must dress the most serious wound first, the one in your belly. I shall have to put pressure on it to stop the bleeding. It will be painful, I am afraid, but then I shall spread a numbing salve upon it and bind it securely. Do you think you can bear up?"

Legolas nodded again, now in too much pain to speak. Edwen Nana tore a length of cloth from her gown, wadded it up, and pressed it against the gash in his belly. He flinched and moaned a little, and Edwen Nana blinked back tears. This was no different, she told herself, than those times when Laiqua was little and she had had to hide her own sorrow and fear lest she frighten the young one. "I must be brave," she told herself. "I must be brave, for only then can I help him."

On the other side of the wall, the sounds of battle were dying down, the Elves having at last gained the upper hand. Suddenly Gilglîr came vaulting over the stones. Appalled at what he saw, he dropped down upon his knees beside Legolas. Edwen Nana, however, did not let him long remain in that position.

"Gilglîr," she said briskly, "you must fetch my pack, for in it are bandages and medicinal salves and herbs. And order that water be set to boiling, a great quantity of it. And when you have seen to that, have a litter constructed, for we must convey Laiqua to Imladris as quickly as possible."

Gilglîr arose at once and did all that she bade. The pack he brought to her at once, and then he returned again with a camp kettle of boiling water.

"My scouts are gathering the longest branches they can find for the construction of a litter," he told her, again kneeling by the side of his friend, who had fallen into a stupor. "Is there anything more I can do?"

By then the wound in Legolas belly was no longer bleeding, and Edwen Nana had also put pressure on the less serious cuts. She had put temporary dressings on all his injuries to stop the blood; now she removed the dressings and began to tend to the injuries with greater thoroughness, washing them and applying salve. She pursed her lips as she worked.

"I shall have need of more boiling water," she said. "And see if there are any more bandages to be had. If you can find none—I know others beside Legolas have been injured!—take the cleanest garments you can find and rip them into strips. And have you any more athelas? I have only a few leaves left."

Gilglîr arose once more and went in search of these items. When he returned, Legolas had roused a little.

"Gilglîr," he gasped upon seeing his friend. "Gilglîr, are Tathar and Caranlass uninjured?"

Ashamed that he had forgotten all about those two, Gilglîr approached the shattered shelter and peered into it. It was empty. There was no sign of blood. He turned and studied the ground. Something had been dragged off. He followed the trail for awhile, until he saw Elf footprints amongst orcish ones. Tathar and Caranlass had been pulled to their feet and were being marched away. He returned to Legolas.

"Be comforted, my friend. They are alive."

Legolas gave a small sigh and slipped back into his stupor.

'Not really a lie', said Gilglîr to himself. 'They _are_ alive. Legolas doesn't need to know that they have been taken prisoner'. To Edwen Nana, however, Gilglîr softly explained the truth of the matter.

"Nana, I am going after Tathar and Caranlass. You I leave in command of the company. Lead them south at once, to the Great East Road. Once you reach it, send my horse on ahead. When he reaches Imladris riderless, Elrond will know to send out warriors to escort you the remainder of the way."

"You are going on foot?"

"Aye. Against these foes, that would be best."

"And alone? Surely _that_ would not be best."

"Nana, I do not wish to reduce Legolas' guard more than necessary. There may yet be foes standing between you and the Great East Road."

Edwen Nana's eyes glistened as she looked upon the Seneschal. She found herself incapable of saying anything other than a rather gruff, "Stay well, Gilglîr."

The Seneschal smiled. An Edwen Nana left speechless was an Edwen Nana who felt deeply indeed! He gave an appreciative nod.

"I have every intention of staying well, Nana. I have no desire to face your wrath if I do not!"

Still smiling, albeit a trifle thinly, he disappeared into the shadows.


	68. The Third Prisoner

**_Dragonfly:_ Yes, I guess the previous chapter did end with a leeetle bit of a cliffhanger. Mwah hah hah hah.**

_Jack:_ When Gandalf finds out what happened to Legolas, he's going to be furious. In an upcoming chapter, look for some cutting comments about Elves who let Orcs creep up on them because (a) they're 'going at it like rabbits' (line stolen from Dragonfly) and (b) they're talking one another's ears off.

_Zergy_: You thought there was an unexpected twist in the _last_ chapter; wait until you get to the end of _this_ one. Thank you for your additional ideas about how the relationship between Aragorn and Legolas may have played out. I am definitely going to write a story that explores that angle.

**_Terreis:_**** I really like to see whether I can mingle humor and angst, and I'm glad you think it's been working so far. About your version of Legolas: you couldn't mistreat him anymore than I do in _my_ stories, so you have no reason to apologize!**

**_Legosgurl:_**** Yes, as Jack mentioned in his review, nothing could be more painful than a wound to the belly.**

_Vicki Turner:_ Uh oh! You're not going to find out what happens to Legolas until the _next_ chapter. (Reader breaks out into a desperate chorus of 'Don't lea-eave me hannnngin' here!')

Beta Reader: Dragonfly

**Chapter 68: The Third Prisoner**

As Caranlass and Tathar were dragged and pushed toward the east, they very much wondered why they were still alive and had not been slain out of hand. Orcs were not in the habit of taking prisoners unless they were hard by their own haunts and thus reasonably sure that they could torture their captives without risk of counterattack. These Orcs, however, were plainly in fear of being pursued, for they drove their captives relentlessly. The two Elves suspected that the Orcs must have had some particular reason for seizing them under such chancy circumstances, and this was indeed the case. The Orc who had first spied their shelter—a singularly surly specimen of goblin he would prove to be!—was the leader of the band, and he had been told to be on the lookout for one Elf in particular. As he watched Tathar and Caranlass sitting in the glow of their campfire, he thought he had found the Elf he was seeking. Actually, he thought that he had had the good fortune to stumble upon two Elves who fit the description of the one he sought. 'I'll grab 'em both', he said to himself. 'One of 'em's got ter be the right one, and mebbe I'll earn a little somethin' extry for snatchin' two pointy-ears stead o' jist the one '. And so he'd ordered some of the Orcs under his command to rush the shelter. He had ordered his other Orcs to attack the larger camp in order to forestall any pursuit. Then, taking his captives, he had fled, not waiting to see what happened to the conscripts serving as the rearguard. Whether they lived or died, he cared not, just so long as he got cleanly away with his prisoners. Now, as they loped toward the east, he was congratulating himself on his cleverness.

Not all the Orcs under his command—the surviving Orcs, that is—thought that their commander had managed things as well as he _thought_ he had. One such malcontent, the second in command, had been studying the prisoners as they ran. At last, as they took a brief break, he spoke up.

"Cap'n," he announced, "these in't the right ones."

"Waddya mean, they in't the right ones?" the captain retorted.

"I mean, in't neither of 'em the one wot we's supposed to bring back."

"They is so—leastways, one of 'em is!"

"Is not!"

"Is so!"

"Is not!"

"Is so!"

"Idjit," exploded the subaltern, rather unwisely, one might add. "Lookit their hair!"

"I _am_ lookin' at their hair."

"Well, then," said the other Orc triumphantly. "If'n yer lookin' at their hair, ye kin see they in't the right ones."

"I don't see that a'tall!"

"Look," explained the malcontent, fingering his sword. "Their hair is red, not gold. Cain't you tell the difference atween red 'n' gold?"

"When the firelight hit hit just so," argued the captain, "it _did_ look gold. Anyways, their hair surely in't black'r'brown, that's sartain, so there in't many other options. Leastways, their hair'll serve fer gold as well as any other's, I reckon. 'Bring back a golden-haired Elf of noble bearing', that's what the Master said'. And here they is!"

"That's another problem," argued his companion. "He said bring back _one_ Elf wit' golden hair. Well, we hain't _got_ one Elf wit' golden hair. We got two."

"He said 'a'," replied the other. "Now, if you is told to bring back _a_ golden-haired Elf, that don't mean ye _cain't_ bring back two. That's _logic_, that's wot that is."

"_I'll_ give ye logic," snarled his challenger, tired of debating. He raised his scimitar. The captain, however, as well as being quick-witted (for an Orc), was quick on his feet. Quickly he hacked off the sword arm of the rebel, and then, by way of amusement, lopped off his head as well. Then he glared round at his fellows.

"Anyone else hain't learned their colors?" he snarled.

"That there is brown," replied one promptly, pointing at a tree trunk.

"And that blood there, it's black," said another. It being Orc blood, he was of course correct.

"And that moss," chimed in yet another, "is green."

"'Pears to be blue to me," sneered the captain.

"Blue-green," amended the other Orc. "I meant to say blue-green."

This concession apparently sufficed, and the quarrel was allowed to subside.

Watching the argument and its conclusion, Tathar and Caranlass could console themselves that the number of their enemies had been reduced by one. Yet they could not help but fear that the irascible and impulsive Orcs might turn on them next. And, indeed, they had not been forgotten by their captors. The captain strode over to Tathar and yanked him to his feet. One of his fellows did likewise to Caranlass.

"If ye don' want ter lose yer legs," hissed the captain, "ye'd better use 'em, and use 'em right smart, too."

With that, the captives were thrust back into the middle of the column of Orcs, and they resumed their race toward the east.

The Orcs ran on for a full day, with only brief breaks, before the captain at last decided that it was safe to stop and make camp. As soon as the column came to a halt, the captain ordered that the prisoners be bound hand and foot. That accomplished, the Orcs began to think about food. It soon occurred to them that they had overlooked an opportunity for a feast.

"We left a perfectly good carcass back there," complained one Orc. "Warn't even a bit spoiled. Shoulda at least thought to carry off the haunches, an mebbe a leg'r'two."

His companions grumbled agreement, and another took up the lament.

"We hain't 'ad nothin' but maggoty bread fer three stinkin' days," he snarled in disgust, casting aside a hunk of said item. He looked about, and his eyes fell upon the captives.

"Wot about them?" he asked. "They're fresh. Cain't we eat one o' them?

The other Orcs clamored in support of the idea.

The captain, who was as hungry as any of them, considered the proposal, his face scrunched up with the effort.

"We-ell," he said, "we only need one prisoner, the one that be noble. But wot I wants ter know, is how we kin tell which be the noble one, and which in't? Once we figure that out, we kin eat the one wot in't noble."

"She is noble, and I am not," Tathar said hastily, "for I am only a carpenter whilst _she_ is the niece of Círdan of Mithlond, a great Elf lord. Have you never heard of Círdan of the Grey Havens?"

"No, I hain't," sneered the captain.

"That's because Círdan _isn't_ a great Elf lord," protested Caranlass. "And I am therefore naught but an ordinary Elf. But this other Elf here, he is the protégé of Prince Laiqualässe of Eryn Lasgalen, and he will someday be the Seneschal of that realm. It is he who is the noble one, and he may not be harmed, lest your Master punish you."

"So," growled the captain, "she says _he's_ noble, and he says _she's_ noble. So which of 'em is we to eat?"

"Both of 'em?" said one Orc hopefully.

The captain shook his head regretfully.

"No, the safest course is to eat neither of 'em—leastways not until the Master gives us leave. Let 'im decide which one he wants ter keep—doubtless he'll let us dine on t'other."

"But I'm hungry now," whined a goblin.

The captain rolled his eyes, gave an exaggerated sigh, and lopped of the head off the whining Orc.

"There now," he said triumphantly. "_Now_ yer not hungry—and the rest of us hain't gonna be hungry no more neither."

Caranlass and Tathar squeezed their eyes shut as the surviving Orcs completed the dismemberment of the decapitated one. After a moment, though, Tathar realized that this might be their chance. He wriggled about until he and Caranlass were pressed back to back.

"What are you doing?" whispered Caranlass.

"Look how distracted they are," Tathar whispered in reply, fumbling at Caranlass' bonds with his numb fingers. "They won't notice that I'm freeing you."

"And then I shall untie you, and we shall be off before they have finished dining!"

"No," replied Tathar. "You'll be off. I must remain here. They'll be less likely to pursue you if I do."

"Tathar! I can't leave you!"

"You can, and you must," Tathar said firmly. "I won't be in any danger, for the Orcs are anxious to bring a golden-haired Elf to their master. They couldn't very well do away with me without forfeiting their reward and risking his wrath."

"You won't be in any _immediate_ danger," argued Caranlass. "But when they bring you before their master, he may be a better judge of hair color than the Orcs were. As soon as he realizes you are not the Elf he sought, he will have you slain or, worse, hand you over to the Orcs for their entertainment."

"But before they can bring me before their master, I will be rescued—and by your agency. The leader of these goblins may not know his colors, but he's been clever enough to make sure that the Orcs have kept to the rockiest soils they could find, so as to leave the fewest traces and frustrate pursuers. Our companions shall need your guidance in order to track me."

"Not so!" retorted Caranlass. "Gilglîr is an excellent tracker, and Legolas is even better."

"You are assuming that they were able to follow us straightaway. It was a large band that attacked our camp. Our friends may have troubles of their own."

"In which case," Caranlass replied promptly, "they may be incapable of rescuing us at all. If that is so, I would rather die by your side than flee to safety without my spouse."

"You cannot! Then our baby would perish as well! Look you, Caranlass, no matter what happens to me, I will live on if you carry him to safety."

"Our baby?"

"Have you not felt him?" said Tathar wonderingly. "Caranlass, your hands are free now. Place them upon your belly. Do you not feel anything?"

Caranlass did as she was bidden, and a look of amazement came upon her face.

"A baby!" she gasped.

"I felt him last night as I stroked your belly whilst we gazed up at the stars. That shall be his name, I think, Gilgalad—Starlight."

"I did not feel him!"

"No doubt because you were stroking my, my, um, you were stroking me," Tathar finished lamely.

"Well," said Caranlass sadly, not noticing his confusion, "I must do as you say. And it is clear that the Orcs will indeed retain the noble Elf as their prisoner."

"Perhaps, but surely not the one they wanted."

"How do you mean?"

"Certainly it was Legolas they were after. But never mind that. Untie your ankles and run for it! Send back help if you can, but if you cannot, honor me by being the mother of my son."

Her fingers trembled, but Caranlass loosed the cords round her feet. She gave Tathar one last kiss and then, her legs too numb for her to stand, she crawled with determination toward the bushes. Within a few minutes, she had reached their shelter. She looked back at Tathar, her face streaked with tears, and then she slipped away into the safety of the scrub.


	69. Something Better Than Life

**_The essence of popsicles: _Oh, I still plan to use "harried to be married." First I have to get Legolas back in the company of his father. Remember it is Thranduil who been engaged in the "marrying harrying"!**

**_Emma:_ Thanks for all those great ideas about possible ways to develop the story about the shifting friendship between Aragorn and Legolas. You're right: such a story will present certain challenges, but that is what will make it so much fun to write. I still have several chapters to go on "Things Fall Apart" and a couple more for "Number Nine," but then I will try going into overdrive myself on the Aragorn/Legolas narrative.**

**_Melanie:_ Ah hah! A lurker unmasked. But, seriously, thank you for your encouragement, both on this tale and on the planned one on the friendship between Aragorn and Legolas.**

**_Dragonfly:_ Yes, it seems as if that Caranlass and Tathar began work on extending the elven line just as soon as the last wedding guest (probably Edwen Nana!) bade them farewell. Yes, Glorfindel, Elrond and Erestor's reactions to this latest turn of events will probably be memorable.**

**_Zergy_****: Thank you! I am really pleased that you find the OCs so interesting and believable. I take that as a real compliment, for obvious reasons, I guess. The canonical characters I have adapted, but the OC characters I created (at least insofar as any character can be said to have been 'created'. And, yes, I really do plan to follow-up on the story line that you suggested.**

**_Legosgurl_****: Yes, Saruman sent the Orcs. The band included a few of his signature half-goblins, and, of course, he is the one obsessed with Legolas. There is no reason to believe that Sauron knows anything about Legolas, although, if he did, he'd probably become obsessed, too!**

**_Chrys_****: Hey, I'm starting to specialize in evil cliff hangers. Mwah hah hah!**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_ **

**Chapter 69: Something Better Than Life**

Tathar had been right: the Orcs had left fewer traces than most goblins generally do. As a result, several times Gilglîr had lost the trail and had been forced to cast about widely before he picked it up again. He squandered valuable time every time he did so. The Orcs seemed to be heading due east, straight toward the Misty Mountains, and the Seneschal feared lest they reach those peaks and disappear into one of the many caverns that honeycombed them. For that reason he was tempted to abandon his attempts to track them and to simply head straight east himself, but what if they suddenly altered course? No, best to follow the trail—when he could find it.

Gilglîr would have been right to give over tracking the goblins, however. As the Orcs and their prisoners had been running, Caranlass had heard the captain tell his lieutenant—before he beheaded him, of course—that they were indeed making straight for the Misty Mountains.

"Oncet we gits there," the captain said, "there'll be a guide awaitin'. He'll take us into a passage through the mountains, and we'll travel a considerable way south afore we've got to come out again. By then, if anyone is followin' us, they'll have lost the trail—and probably their lives, too. An ambush will be laid, so if they venture into the passageway, they're like to be Orc-fodder."

His subaltern licked his lips.

"I'd like to be there for that!"

"Aye, no doubt ye would, but then ye'd forfeit yer part of the reward, wouldn' ye?"

The lesser goblin considered this eventuality, and allowed as how he'd rather hold out for the reward.

"Glad to know y'ain't a total lackwit," observed the captain. Coming from him, this statement had to rank as high compliment.

Now, as Caranlass, her legs having recovered, hastened to retrace their steps, she recalled this conversation and thought anxiously about the plans of the Orcs.

"If they make it to the Misty Mountains," she reminded herself, "likely Tathar will never be seen again. They will take him before their master, and he will be slain."

Such thoughts gave such wings to her feet that even Gwaihir the Wind-Lord would have been hard put to keep pace with her. By the time the Orcs realized that she had escaped, she was miles from their encampment. Thus, even had they decided to pursue her, it is not likely that they would have been able to catch her. But Tathar was right: since they still held him, they were not inclined to turn back and possibly encounter any Elves who might be on their trail.

"Oh, let the pointy-ear go," the captain yawned, sleepy after the feast of dismembered goblin. He clawed out a bit of cartilage from between his teeth and tossed it toward the crows that were searching for leftovers—a small item, that.

"Long as we got one pointy-ear, Master won't be none the wiser. Just don' nobody mention we had an extry but lost 'er."

"But wot if this in't the right one," worried one of the Orcs. "Wot if the one wot got away was the right one."

"Oh," said the captain carelessly, "like as not this one _is_ the right one. He's the male, in't 'e? 'Pears to me a male pointy-ear's more likely to be noble than a female one."

Tathar knew that this was pretty poor reasoning, but he certainly wasn't about to point this out, for he approved highly of any argument that would encourage the Orcs to keep him alive while at the same time leaving Caranlass at liberty. His spirits rose for the first time since the Orcs had smashed through the walls of the shelter and dragged the two of them away.

His were not the only spirits that were rising. Soon after Gilglîr had set out from Weathertop, the other Elves had departed for the south. Elves on horseback had formed two concentric circles. The riders in the outer ring remained alert while those in the inner ring rested as they rode. Within the center of the second ring, Elves on foot carefully bore Legolas upon a litter. Because there were always some Elves who were rested, there were always Fair Folk available to either take their place as lookouts in the outer circle or to serve as fresh stretcher bearers. Thus the Elves had no need to stop, and they made good time until they stood upon the greensward at the side of the Great East Road. Once they had arrived at that point, Edwen Nana sent Gilglîr's steed on ahead toward Imladris and, for good measure, Legolas' horse as well. Then she ordered a halt, both so that she might change the dressings on Legolas' wounds and so that all might partake of a hot meal.

When she unwound the bandages covering the young Elf's injuries, she was relieved to see no sign of infection.

'I do believe,' she said to herself, 'that it will be quite safe to stitch his wounds without fear that I will be closing the skin over an infection that will fester within'.

She got out her mending kit, and you may be sure that she did some of her best sewing that day. Carefully she drew together each layer of muscle and skin, finishing the topmost layers with tiny stitches so that the scarring would be the less. Then she once against anointed the wounds with salve, and with fresh bandages she dressed anew each injury, being careful to make the wrappings secure but not too tight.

Legolas had been dozing as he had been borne upon his litter, and at first he continued to sleep once the stretcher had been put down. However—and not surprisingly!—he awoke when Edwen Nana began to stitch his wounds.

"Ah, Laiqua," she said regretfully, "I am sorry that I must cause you pain."

"I believe I have the Orcs to thank for that," he tried to jest. "Ow!"

"You must comfort yourself by remembering that the pain will not last forever," the nursemaid advised. "Any pain is endurable if one may be sure that it will be limited in duration."

"A fine-sounding sentiment," protested Legolas, "but _you _have never been skewered by a sword."

"And _you_ have never given birth," retorted Edwen Nana. "A woman, no matter what her race, can suffer from sword or knife, but men can never know the pain of childbirth. So consider yourself lucky that you are a warrior and not a woman!"

Legolas could not argue with her on that score and henceforth bore in silence the discomfort of having his wounds stitched. His stoicism was rewarded when, her task done, Edwen Nana leaned forward and kissed him upon the forehead.

"There now, all done. Could you eat a little, do you think?"

"No, but I am thirsty."

"Why, it just so happens that I am carrying a flask of miruvor upon my person."

"Imagine that!" exclaimed Legolas, feigning surprise.

Edwen Nana pretended to cuff his ear, and then helped him sit up so that he could drink a little of the elixir. Then she eased him back down again and commanded the bearers to once again raise the litter. Moving rapidly yet carefully, the Elves resumed their journey toward Rivendell.

While Edwen Nana had been stitching Legolas' wounds, Galadriel had stood frowning a little as she looked into her mirror. Of course, one could never be sure of what one saw in the mirror, and it was dangerous to govern one's action by it. Still, the Lady of Lórien decided she had best journey to Imladris.

"And why not?" she said to herself. "It is long since I visited that place. I should like to see Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen once again. I ought to make the journey for that reason alone, even had I no other cause to do so."

She ascended the steps that led from her Glade and looked about for Haldir, who was her attendant that day. Where was he? Odd, he was usually the most dutiful of retainers. It was not like him to abandon his post.

Galadriel heard low murmurs, accompanied by laughter. The sounds seemed to be coming from the far side of a mallorn tree. Quietly she stole toward it, smiling a little. When she reached the tree, she paused a moment, listening carefully, and then suddenly stepped around it. She was rewarded by an exclamation and a shriek, the one coming from Haldir, the other coming from an elleth.

"My, my Lady," stammered Haldir, blushing so deeply that even the tips of his ears turned pink. "I did not mean to neglect my duty! I, I thought that you were still occupied in the Glade."

The elleth was busy adjusting her gown and did not say anything, although her face was a red as Haldir's.

"Do not fret, Haldir," replied Galadriel, still smiling. "In the future, however, you had best keep to your flet when you are, ahem, entertaining an elleth."

"Oh, I will," Haldir assured her. He had no desire to be caught out by the Lady of Lothlórien on a regular basis! Of course, he could not know that Galadriel was in fact delighted to see him 'keeping company' with an elleth. Haldir had neither Rúmil's self-assurance nor Orophin's easy manner, so he had lagged several centuries behind his brothers in making friends amongst the maidens. Was he now trying to make up for lost time? Galadriel smiled at the thought. 'And why shouldn't he?' she said to herself. 'After all, an eternity is a very long time to be perfectly behaved!'

Haldir's elleth, having set her garments to rights, hastily excused herself, leaving Haldir to Galadriel's good graces.

"Haldir, I mean to depart for Imladris upon the morrow. You shall be the head of my escort, and I leave it to you to make the necessary arrangements."

"Yes, my Lady," said Haldir excitedly. To be the head of the escort of the Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien, and to visit Imladris! He wondered if Arwen would be in residence whilst he was there. Galadriel perceived his thoughts and decided that she had better warn him off—gently, of course.

"Whilst I am in Imladris," she said, as if thinking aloud, "I really should devote some time to helping Arwen with her trousseau. Of course, her marriage to Estel will not take place for several more years—much remains to be accomplished!—but it would not hurt to set aside a few heirlooms against that day. Your brothers Rúmil and Orophin would not understand the need—they both can be so heedless!—but I am sure that you see the reason for such preparations."

Having received a compliment from the Lady Galadriel, Haldir had an excuse to bow in acknowledgement and was thus able to hide his face momentarily. When he raised up his head once more, he had mastered his surprise. It was a composed Haldir who addressed Galadriel.

"I now count myself as particularly fortunate at having been chosen to accompany you to Imladris, for the journey shall provide me with an opportunity to congratulate the Lady Arwen."

"That is very thoughtful of you, Haldir. I know Arwen shall be pleased to learn of your kind sentiments, for she has always been glad to number you amongst her friends and will no doubt wish to continue to do so in the future."

Galadriel smiled gently at the young Elf, and Haldir returned her smile. To be Arwen's friend, yes, that was something to be treasured. Then a sudden thought hit him, and a shadow fell upon his face.

"She is to marry Estel?"

"Yes, when he has fulfilled that name and taken on a new one as the King of the combined kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor."

"But that means." Here Haldir hesitated, but Galadriel smiled at him encouragingly.

"That means, Haldir?"

"The Lord Elrond has cast his lot with the Eldar, and someday he will depart Middle-earth for the Undying Lands. But Arwen, she, she."

"She will not accompany him," Galadriel finished the thought. "All the more reason for going to her in friendship, Haldir. She will cherish each moment that she spends with those whom she loves, for she knows that her time with them will be limited."

Haldir bowed his head in grief.

"Why do you sorrow, Haldir? She has weighed her choices and knows that immortality is not in itself to be desired—no, not if it is empty of love and joy. Think you, Haldir, could you never imagine exchanging your immortal life for something worth even more?"

Haldir considered and had a sudden vision. He saw Elves and Men falling in battle, and he understood that they did so willingly, so that those whom they loved and left behind would live in security and peace.

"Yes, my Lady," he said softly. "I can indeed imagine exchanging one's life for something of even greater value."

He straightened his shoulders.

"I will go and see to the preparations for the journey."

He bowed to Galadriel and strode away. Galadriel smiled after him, but a little sadly.


	70. Turn And Turn Again

**Many thanks to the following reviewers: _Dragonfly, Vicki Turner_, and _Legosgurl_.  
Beta Reader: _Dragonfly._**

**Chapter 70: Turn and Turn Again**

Glorfindel strode into Elrond's private chamber without bothering to knock. Startled, Elrond looked up from the book he had been enjoying.

"Glorfindel! What is the matter?"

"Legolas' horse has just arrived riderless. Aye, and a second horse, too—Gilglîr's, I judge, for it has a very ornate headstall."

Elrond stood up hastily, alarm plainly to be seen upon his visage.

"Riderless! Glorfindel, can the steeds lead us back to their riders, do you think?"

"Aye, they refuse to enter the stables. It is clear that they are desirous that we should go to the aid of their masters."

"Then a search party must be assembled at once. Will you see to the marshaling of the necessary forces?"

"Most assuredly."

"I will ride out myself. Erestor can take charge in my absence."

Glorfindel inclined his head and strode from the room as rapidly as he had entered it. Less than an hour later, a company of Elves galloped from Rivendell, heading west. It included not only Glorfindel and Elrond but Elladan and Elrohir as well. The twin sons of Elrond had been appalled to learn that their foster-brother's horse had arrived without his rider.

"What could have befallen him on the road from Mithlond?" Elladan worried as they rode. "We look for dangers from the east and the south, not from the west."

"I do not think we can expect to find safety in any direction now," his brother replied. "The world is changing, and lands that have long seemed secure will soon be fraught with peril."

Miles away, Caranlass was painfully aware of this as she made her way as rapidly as possible back through the terrain over which she had been dragged by Orcs. 'I must have a care for the baby', she kept trying to remind herself, but that scarcely slowed her. Abruptly, however, she checked her pell-mell flight and listened intently. A look of hope passed over her face. 'Someone approaches', she said to herself, 'but his footfalls are very light. Dare I hope that he is an Elf?' Yet a troubled look suddenly replaced her joyful one. 'But if an Elf, why only one? Did all the others perish?'

She crouched down behind a bush to see who it was who came that way, and was relieved when, after a few minutes, Gilglîr stepped into view. Before she could hail him, he looked in her direction.

"Caranlass," he exclaimed, "you are alive. But what of Tathar?"

The elleth arose and came out from behind the bush.

"Tathar is alive, Gilglîr, but he is a captive. The Orcs may have mistaken him for Legolas and are taking him to their master. It seems they hope for some great award if they bring him alive."

"Legolas? But Legolas has golden hair whilst Tathar's hair is red."

"Yes, well, Orcs do not have much color-sense, seemingly. For that we should be grateful. But I fear lest their master be more discerning. The Orcs make for the Misty Mountains with all speed, and if they reach it they will vanish into one of the caverns that honeycomb those peaks. They will bring Tathar to their master, and if Tathar is of no use to him, no doubt he will have Tathar slain."

"Aye, but not until the Orcs have finished amusing themselves with him," muttered Gilglîr. At once the expression on Caranlass' face made him regret that he had uttered this thought aloud.

"I am sorry, Caranlass," he apologized. "I should not have spoken so."

She replied in a steady voice.

"You have merely said what I have been thinking. But enough talk! Haste is necessary."

"True! I encountered no perils as I came along. If you continue to back track, you will reach the East Road safely enough. As we speak Elves will be hastening upon in search of you. They will find you and convey you at once to Imladris."

"I will not be conveyed to Imladris," Caranlass declared firmly.

"Caranlass!"

"Let us not waste time arguing," the elleth continued. "I have already proven that I am capable of handling a bow. You are going to need help, and I can provide it. I assure you that in doing so I will take care not to put myself in any danger, for now another one's safety depends upon me. If need be, I will watch my husband die. But at least I will have tried, and at least he would not have died without my being near."

Gilglîr looked at her in amazement.

"You are carrying Tathar's child!"

"Why do you look so surprised?" she said coolly. "What did you think we have been doing off by ourselves? But, again, enough talk!"

As if Gilglîr had not already respected Caranlass enough, now he respected her even more. Without further word, they set forth in pursuit of the Orcs and their prisoner. Immediately, Gilglîr realized that Caranlass was right to insist upon accompanying him. With her by his side, he no longer had to cast about for the trail. Unerringly she retraced her steps, and they went on their way faster than Gilglîr had hitherto been able to do on his own.

The Orcs knew that there was a possibility that the escaped elleth would try to guide rescuers to them, but they never dreamed that she would do so with any great speed. Thus they had not yet troubled to move on after their feast of dismembered goblin. Besides, like many creatures, they were made lethargic by a large meal. Moreover, it was full daylight, and though they could travel under the sun, they preferred not to. And so, snoring, many sprawled about in the shade of bushes. Several, however, had been told off to keep watch over the prisoner. Being Orcs, they of course felt compelled to grumble with discontent at having been chosen as sentries.

"Stupid pointy-ear is tied foot'n'paw. Don' know why we gots ter watch 'im. He in't goin' nowhere nohows."

"Do ye s'pose," said another hopefully, "we could 'ave a leetle fun wit' 'im? Poke 'im wit' a stick, like?"

Tathar had taken the precaution of closing his eyes so that the Orcs might think he was sleeping. This action proved to be wise.

"Naw," said a third Orc, shaking his head. "If we wake 'im up, he might startle, like, and make a noise wot would wake up the Cap'n."

"We could gag ''im," suggested another helpfully. "That way he couldn' make no noise, no, not a peep."

At this point the Captain snorted, rolled over in his sleep, opened his eyes briefly to gaze upon the guards, and then rolled over again. The guards fell silent. Several minutes passed before one dared speak.

"Mebbe," he said nervously, "it'd be better ter play cards. Lessee 'ose got some."

A greasy deck was promptly produced and a game was soon underway.

A little while later, Gilglîr and Caranlass crept up to the encampment. Gilglîr had given Caranlass his bow, and he was armed with his sword. Together they studied the scene. To their relief, they saw that Tathar, although his eyes were closed, was still alive, else the Orcs would not have bothered keeping him in bonds. They were disappointed, however, to see so that a half-dozen or so Orcs seemed to be awake. With only one bow between them, there would be no way to fell all the guards quickly enough to eliminate the possibility that at least one would survive long enough to give the alarm. Had the number been fewer, Caranlass would have picked them off whilst Gilglîr slipped into the camp to cut Tathar's bonds. The three of them would then have slipped off before anyone had been aware.

"Perhaps," Caranlass suggested, "we could pick off the Orcs one by one as they leave their fellows to make water behind the trees."

"That would work were it not for one unfortunate fact," Gilglîr replied.

"What is that?"

"Orcs don't take the trouble to step aside to make water. They piss where they stand."

As if to prove Gilglîr's point, at that very moment one of the guards undid his leg coverings and sent a stream of water in the direction of Gilglîr and Caranlass' hiding place.

"Ugh," shuddered Caranlass, "and I thought an Orc's face was ugly enough."

"Yes," agreed Gilglîr, "it is well-known that there is nothing uglier than the head of an Orc—save the head of an Orc."

"Gilglîr!" Caranlass protested, although she was more amused than shocked.

"Oh, sorry," apologized Gilglîr. "When you've been off campaigning for awhile, you and your companions develop, well, an odd sort of humor."

"I should say so!"

The two returned their attention to the scene before them and pondered how to effect a rescue.

"Perhaps," suggested Caranlass, "we could pick them off as they travel. If we always felled the rearmost Orc, it might be awhile before any of them realized what we were about. It is to be hoped that before they do so, their numbers would have become more manageable."

Gilglîr considered this suggestion.

"Yes," he agreed. "I do believe that your plan may work."

The two settled down to wait until the Orcs broke camp. Come dusk, the goblins obliged.

"We're goin' to travel until dawn—no breaks!" proclaimed the Captain as he swaggered through the camp kicking sleeping Orcs into consciousness. His troops met this announcement with groans, but Gilglîr and Caranlass were delighted. The longer the Orcs continued without stopping, the longer their elven pursuers would be able to pick them off with little likelihood of discovery. When they stopped and were all gathered together, it was much more probable that the missing members would be noticed—or not noticed, as it were.

Tathar's legs were cut free, and he was yanked to his feet and thrust into the midst of the column of Orcs, which set off at once toward the east. In their wake stole Gilglîr and Caranlass, and it was not long before the elleth saw an opportunity to bring down a laggard. Aiming carefully, she released an arrow that struck her target at the base of his skull, and the Orc toppled forward without making a sound. His fellows, oblivious to his fate, marched on. From time to time the Captain glanced back, but he was satisfied to spy one or two Orcs immediately behind Tathar, for they were passing through a forest, and often trees blocked his view of the others. This did not escape the notice of Gilglîr and Caranlass as they scouted out the column. The next time Caranlass felled an Orc, Gilglîr stripped the body of both helmet and garments. Then Caranlass brought down another Orc and followed suit. Garbed as goblins, they continued to shadow their foes.

At last Caranlass had picked off all the Orcs that had stood between them and Tathar. They were now ready to make their move. They slipped into position behind the prisoner. The captain glanced back casually, spied nothing amiss, and turned his face back to the front. At once the Elves sprang forward, seized Tathar, and hustled him off to one side. Tathar made not a sound. Although the Orcs had been oblivious to the presence of the Elves who shadowed them, Tathar had not been. He had sensed their nearness; moreover, his keen hearing had heard the sounds of bow being drawn and arrow being released. He was not surprised at being rescued. He was, however, taken aback at finding Caranlass to be one of the rescuers. He knew, though, that this was no time to discuss the matter. They were going to have to run for it, he believed. The Orc captain had shrugged off the loss of one Elf; he would not be so complacent about the loss of the second. Gilglîr, though, had something in mind other than running.

"Let us shelter in trees," he suggested, "until the Orcs have discovered that Tathar is missing. They will pass by us heading southward once again; after, we will fall in behind them. Then we will not be pursued by Orcs but will be the pursuers!"

To Tathar and Caranlass, this plan seemed to be an excellent one. Each ascended a tree and waited for the Orcs to discover that the prisoner had vanished.

While Tathar and his liberators patiently hid within their arboreal haven, Galadriel was dismounting in front of Elrond's Hall. Alerted as to her approach, Erestor awaited her.

"My Lady, we were not expecting you!"

"Then why were you standing in front of the Hall?"

"I mean, word was sent to the Hall as soon as you were espied, but we had not known that you were contemplating a visit. I am afraid there has been no time to make elaborate preparations to receive you."

"Nor do I expect any. I am here as the grandmother of Elrond's children."

"I am sorry then, that, Elladan and Elrohir are not in Imladris at the moment."

"No matter. They will return soon enough. Meanwhile, please send word to Arwen that I am here. And would you also see to the preparation of two rooms in the House of Healing?"

Erestor understood at once—or thought he did.

"One chamber for Legolas and another for Gilglîr?"

"Yes and no. Gilglîr is uninjured."

"Someone else is injured?"

"No"

"Sick, then?"

"No."

Erestor was puzzled. If no one else was injured or ill, then what was the purpose in preparing a second room? Galadriel smiled. No conversation with the Lady of Lórien could be considered complete without an enigmatic utterance or two, and she had now furnished one. And Erestor was unlikely to hit upon its solution: childbearing was neither an injury nor a disease, but the skills of healers might nevertheless be called upon.

Legolas, however, would need the services of healers long before Caranlass would. Following Legolas and Gilglîr's steeds, Elrond, Glorfindel, and the twins were anxiously galloping west along the Great East Road. In the distance, they saw a party of riders approaching. They could not see that in the center of the party was borne a litter upon which Legolas lay sleeping. Where, then, was the Prince? Their anxiety renewed, they urged their horses on even faster.

As the Rivendell party neared the Mirkwood one, the horses of the latter parted, and Elrond and his companions espied the litter, with Edwen Nana standing beside it. Relieved, they slowed their long-suffering steeds to a canter. Coming up to the Mirkwood Elves, they hastily dismounted, and, dispensing with any formalities, Elrond went straight to Legolas' stretcher, which had now been placed upon the ground. He knelt down beside it and laid his hand upon the forehead of his foster-son.

"Legolas," he called softly. "Ion-nîn."

Legolas opened his eyes. "Ada," he said weakly.

Tears arose in Elrond's eyes. It had been long since Legolas had called him "Ada," for it had been long since Thranduil had reclaimed the young Mirkwood Elf as his own. Elrond tried to steel himself. He turned to Edwen Nana.

"How badly is he hurt?"

"I do not think that he has suffered a vital wound, but he is weak and weary."

"Infection?"

"No sign of it yet."

Elrond nodded.

"Good. Let us speedily convey him to Imladris so that he may recover in comfort and with the benefit of all the medicinal herbs and salves that are kept in that place."

Now that the Rivendell Elves had arrived, the Mirkwood Elves were desirous of riding back to the aid of Gilglîr, Tathar, and Caranlass. They knew that Elrond's folk would spare no effort to bring Legolas to a place of safety. Of the Mirkwood Elves, then, only Edwen Nana would continue at the side of Legolas. But of the Rivendell Elves, not all would be escorting Legolas. Glorfindel, Elladan, and Elrohir asked leave to accompany the Mirkwood Elves. Their kinsman had been attacked, and they would not let the insult go unanswered. Elrond, knowing the strength of their feelings, bestowed upon them both his permission and his blessing. For their part, the Mirkwood Elves were glad to be joined by three of the most famous warriors in Middle-earth.

Augmented by these redoubtable Rivendell Elves, the Mirkwood company galloped back toward the west. Traveling at a more sedate pace, Legolas' new escort made for Rivendell. And what of Gilglîr, Tathar, and Caranlass? Safely ensconced on tree limbs, they were looking down as Orcs scurried by, driven on by the curses of their captain, so furious as to be apoplectic. After the last Orc had passed, the Elves quietly descended from their hiding places and stealthily fell in behind their foes.


	71. White Shores

**_The essence of popsicles:_ Caranlass as a Mary Sue? Interesting thought. She's pulled off some pretty impressive stunts. She is resourceful, brave, and an excellent archer. On the other hand, has she done anything that would raise eyebrows if she were a male Elf, all of whom seem to be resourceful, brave, and excellent archers? (Not to mention capable of skateboarding down the steps of fortresses and performing acrobatic feats on the back of rampaging Mûmakil!) What do you folks think? Weigh in on the question of whether Caranlass is a Mary Sue.**

**_Inuyashaloverfan_: Here is the chapter!**

**_MusicalCharlatan_: Your request for the kicking of some orc-butt has been duly noted and will receive a response at the author's earliest opportunity. Seriously, though, thank you for your words of encouragement.**

**_Dragonfly:_ Well, at _some_ point there will be 'further trouble'! Yes, it was touching that the injured Legolas reverted to an elfling seeking comfort from his 'Ada'. When I had double pneumonia, pleurisy, and something else that I cannot spell all rolled into one, all I wanted was my Mommy and Daddy, who overnight drove down 600 miles to be with me when I sent out my distress call. Some things never change.**

**_Zergy_: Even though you couldn't elaborate, thanks! Short reviews are encouraging, too!**

**_Legosgurl_: Yes, Caranlass certainly is capable of standing up for herself.  
**  
**Chapter 71: White Shores**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_**

With Legolas now under the protection of the Rivendell Elves, the Mirkwood warriors, strengthened by the addition of Glorfindel, Elladan, and Elrohir, quickly returned to the scene of the Orc attack. Equally quickly, they picked up Gilglîr's trail, for the Seneschal had not been attempting to disguise it as he pursued the Orcs and their captives. On the contrary: whenever he could, Gilglîr had left traces, for he knew that help would be dispatched as soon as Legolas' safety was secured. Riding as fast as the terrain permitted, the Elves at length came upon the body of the Orc who had challenged his captain.

"One fewer Orc for us to contend with," observed Elrohir with satisfaction.

"Yes," agreed his brother, "and while they are preoccupied with killing each other, perhaps they will be too busy to mistreat their prisoners."

"Or perhaps the one will lead to the other," opined Glorfindel brusquely. "Enough talk! Ride on!"

While the rescue party rode east with all the speed they could muster, the Orcs, believing themselves in pursuit of their vanished captive, were heedlessly crashing through the forest as they headed back toward the west. Tathar, however, as well as Gilglîr and Caranlass, was of course following _behind_ the Orcs. The Orcs, unaware of this fact, were also unaware that Caranlass had resumed picking them off. The first Orc she felled, Tathar donned his helmet and garb and girt on his sword. One by one Caranlass brought down each Orc, and the three Elves, in their orcish disguise, drew ever nearer to the captain at the head of the rapidly dwindling column.

The would-be rescuers, when they deemed they were close to their quarry, dismounted and moved on without their horses in the interest of stealth. So it was that the captain of the Orcs, cursing over his shoulder at the slowness of his followers, at length blundered right into them. He was brought up short by the sight of the grim warriors who as one raised their weapons and aimed them at him. He was an Orc, however, and therefore reckless and foolhardy. He turned and shouted at the three nearest Orcs, "Have at 'em, boys." Glorfindel, Elladan, and Elrohir had noticed that these three goblins had straightened themselves at spying the Elves and thus stood unusually tall and erect for Orcs. Now the three Orcs stepped forward—and pulled off their helmets. There stood Tathar, Caranlass, and Gilglîr. The captain's look of surprise remained upon his face even after his head had been detached from its body by one mighty blow from Glorfindel's sword.

"I see," Glorfindel said to Gilglîr, "that you were not in need of rescue after all."

"Perhaps not," replied the Mirkwood Elf, "but we shall be glad of your company nonetheless. By the way, you wouldn't happen to have any horses hereabouts, would you?"

"We have left our herd a little to the west of here. You will be glad to know that we brought along spare mounts."

"Ah, that is good to hear. I am anxious to reach Imladris. Legolas has been taken there, has he not?"

"Yes, and he will be looked after by Elrond. You may be certain his foster-father will afford him the best of care."

"I am sure of it. Elrond is famed as a healer."

They were walking as they spoke, and soon they gained the clearing where the horses grazed. Caranlass, Tathar, and Gilglîr each gratefully accepted a mount, and the entire party set out toward Rivendell at the quickest pace possible, given that they were riding through woody lands. Once they reached the Great East Road, they would have broken into a gallop, but Tathar begged them not to.

"We should give some thought to Caranlass," he pointed out. "It is true that she is no frail flower, but she does bear within her the seeds of future life. I would not have those seeds needlessly cast aside."

Glorfindel looked at Caranlass with great respect.

"I am a warrior who takes life, but you both take life and bring it! My Lady, you should be honored amongst Elves!"

As soon as they arrived in Rivendell, Caranlass was conveyed at once to the House of Healing. After she had bathed and changed into fresh clothing, Elrond and Galadriel both came to see her in the comfortable room that had been prepared for her.

"Welcome to Imladris, my Lady," said Elrond. "Legolas has spoken highly of your cleverness and courage, but I shall chide him for neglecting to mention your beauty as well."

"Thank you, my Lord," said Caranlass, casting her eyes down in sudden bashfulness at hearing herself complimented by no less a personage than the Lord of Imladris.

"If you are done being charming," Galadriel teased Elrond, "we should see to the health of Caranlass and her child."

Caranlass looked up eagerly.

"Tathar said he sensed a son when he laid his hand upon my belly, but I am quite sure I felt a daughter. I did not wish to say anything, however, for it hardly seemed the time to have a discussion on the matter!"

"No, indeed," smiled Galadriel, laying her hand gently upon Caranlass' belly. "Ah, a daughter. And quite healthy, I think."

She stepped back to give Elrond an opportunity to likewise check on the health of the infant. He laid his hand upon Caranlass, and a surprised look came over his face.

"Your pardon, Galadriel," he said, "but I'm afraid I must concur with Tathar. It is a son."

Galadriel looked equally surprised. She again drew near and laid a hand upon Caranlass' belly.

"Yes," she agreed after a minute, "a son." Elrond looked a trifle smug. It was not often one proved Galadriel wrong! But as he stood quietly congratulating himself, the Lady of Lothlórien moved her hand slightly. "And a daughter," she added.

"What!"

Galadriel laughed gently.

"Why so surprised, Elrond? Did you think yourself the only Elf in Middle-earth capable of siring twins?"

Now Elrond laid both his hands upon Caranlass, and after a moment he broke into a smile. "Yes, twins. A boy and a girl. And both quite lively!"

Tathar was sent for and told the news. He was speechless for such a length of time that at last Caranlass found herself laughing at him.

"I have never known you to be so restrained," she said, smiling. "Indeed, we would not be having twins had you behaved so during the journey!"

At last Tathar came to himself and begged that Edwen Nana be sent for so that she might be told the news as well.

"Do you suppose," he said anxiously, "that she would agree to be the children's nurse?"

Caranlass found herself laughing once again.

"As if you shall have to ask," she giggled. "Edwen Nana will be in raptures at the news that she shall have not one but two babes to dote upon."

Caranlass was of course right. Although Tathar had been speechless at the news, Edwen Nana more than made up for his silence as she prattled on at the prospect of tending to the infants.

"Twins! They are going to require ever so much nursing. And clothing! It will be necessary to sew outfits not just for one but for two. And nappies! Ever so many will need to be cut and folded. And laundered, too, of course. Why, the laundry cauldron will have to be kept boiling night and day!"

On and on she went until Elrond not only raised his brows but rolled his eyes, a most unusual gesture on his part. Aye, and Galadriel herself, the serene Lady of Lothlórien, began to chortle, an event unprecedented in the annals of Middle-earth. At last Galadriel gently suggested that Caranlass needed to sleep and so succeeded in ushering Edwen Nana to the door. The Nursemaid issued a few injunctions over her shoulder as she departed—advice as to what Caranlass ought to eat and suchlike—and then she departed, although only to descend upon the Seamstress to demand what cloth she had on hand. Over the next months, Edwen Nana would sew enough gowns for an army of infants, much to the benefit of the poor folk of Dunland, for Elrond saw to it that many of these garments were quietly distributed amongst the villages of that land.

Tathar and Caranlass of course agreed that they would remain in Rivendell until the children had been born and had grown sturdy enough for the journey to Mirkwood. For, as Elrond had pointed out, whatever route they chose—whether to cross the Misty Mountains or to head for the Gap of Rohan—the journey would be a hard and perilous one for either a pregnant elleth or a newborn babe. Better not to risk it. Moreover, Rivendell was famed for its healers, Elrond of course being the foremost amongst their number. There could be no better place for Caranlass to bring her infants to term.

Legolas, too, would be remaining in Rivendell. He would not be able to travel for several weeks, and it was agreed that he might as well stay on past that point so that one party could be made up to escort both Legolas and the young family. Gilglîr and his warriors would ride on to Mirkwood to carry news of the delay to Thranduil and then would return to accompany Legolas, Tathar, Caranlass, and the babes.

"I don't envy you, Gilglîr," said Elrond wryly. "You must convey to Thranduil two unwelcome bits of news. His son is not married, and his intended bride—intended by Thranduil, at least!—has married his carpenter and is with child—bearing not one but two infants not of Legolas' siring! Worse, Legolas has been injured and cannot yet return to him. Thranduil will be fit to be tied—indeed! perhaps when you pass through Lothlórien you should be sure to acquire some of their excellent rope!"

Gilglîr assured Elrond that he would be able to handle the irascible King of Mirkwood—"after all, I have had much practice!"—and then excused himself from Elrond's presence so that he might sit with Legolas for a time. The Seneschal found that Haldir, Elladan, and Elrohir had preceded him. The young Elves were a boisterous lot, and surrounded by them, Legolas evinced little evidence of his recent wounding.

"What is this?" asked Gilglîr, hoisting an empty wine bottle in either hand. "I did not know that the healers prescribed this sort of tonic. Now I understand why Elves flock from all around to take the Imladris cure!"

"Gilglîr," Legolas said excitedly, "I am really much better. Haldir, Elladan, and Elrohir are riding out tomorrow, and I want to accompany them."

"Surely that is the wine talking!" exclaimed Gilglîr. "You will do no such thing. If you ever again so much as breathe the idea, I shall set Edwen Nana to watching you!"

Legolas hastily assured him that he would give over the plan, but Gilglîr was suspicious of him.

'No doubt he means to obey', he said to himself, 'but his resolve will weaken—particularly if his friends hang about and encourage him. Elrond had best put a guard on his room. I shall tell him so'.

After a while, Gilglîr bade the young Elves good e'en and departed to his own chamber. When he had left, they resumed an earlier thread of conversation.

"So our grandmother told you about Arwen and Estel," said Elladan.

"Yes," said Haldir. "She said part of her reason for journeying here was to see to Arwen's trousseau."

"Were you surprised?" asked Elrohir.

"Yes, I allow as how I was. I had never thought of Estel as someone who, well, someone who would, um, appeal to a maiden."

"Perhaps not all maidens are as fastidious as you," teased Elrohir.

"Legolas," said Haldir, ignoring Elrohir, "were _you_ surprised?"

"Very!" replied Legolas. "Like you, when I thought of Estel, I did not think in terms of marriage."

"Of course not!" exclaimed Elladan, amused at Legolas' way of putting it. "No one expected _you_ to marry him!"

After the laughter had died down, Haldir asked a more serious question.

"Were you disappointed, Legolas?"

"No. As soon I recovered from my surprise, I realized that Estel and Arwen would be well-suited one to the other—once Estel trims his beard, takes a bath, and changes into clean clothes!"

"But there have long been rumors that you were to marry Arwen. You didn't feel at all slighted?"

"Slighted? Relieved is more like it! When I thought of Arwen, I did not think in terms of marriage."

"Now that's more like it," grinned Elladan. Legolas tossed a pillow at him, which Elladan caught handily and tossed back.

"Elladan," asked Haldir, puzzled. "Legolas has just said that he would not want to marry your sister. Yet you react with laughter rather than anger. Are you not offended?"

"Legolas was fostered here," Elladan reminded the Lothlórien Elf. "I would not want my sworn-brother to marry my sister. Whatever you Lórien Elves think, we're not Orcs, you know! But what of you, Haldir? Were _you_ not disappointed?"

"Yes, I was," replied Haldir honestly. "During Arwen's stay in my homeland, we spent much time together, and I grew—fond of her. Yes, very fond. In fact," he went on bravely, "I loved her—love her. I cannot help but be disappointed. Yet if she is happy in her choice, then I will rejoice on her behalf."

"To speak so, you truly must love her," said Elrohir respectfully. "I am sorry you are not destined to be as one with her."

"No, but I am destined to be her friend," replied Haldir. "We can't all marry her, but we are all permitted to love her and to remain loyal to her."

"You have become as wise as Galadriel," said Legolas, and only half teasingly.

Elrohir reached out and clapped a hand on Haldir's shoulder.

"Hannon le," he said quietly.

"For what, Elrohir?"

"For your love and loyalty toward my sister. To all of us, really. Haldir, you are a good friend."

'Yes', Legolas was thinking to himself. 'Haldir truly is a good friend. He would sacrifice all for those whom he loves. He would die for them'.

Legolas suddenly cried out in pain. As one, his friends turned toward him.

"What is the matter?" exclaimed Elrohir, distressed. "Elladan! run fetch Ada! Haldir, hand me that cloth."

When Elrond arrived shortly thereafter, Elrohir was bathing Legolas' forehead with a damp cloth. The injured Elf was pale and trembling. Elrond at once sent the other Elves from the room, for they hovered so anxiously over their friend that they impeded the healer.

When the other Elves had gone, Elrond tried to unwind the bandages protecting Legolas' wound, but the young Elf stayed him.

"No, Ada, it is not my wound. That pains me very little."

"What ails you, then?"

"I am not sure. We were talking cheerfully, jesting amongst ourselves. Elrohir grew a little solemn. He was thanking Haldir for being a good friend to us all. I was thinking to myself, that, yes, he is truly a good and loyal friend, one who would die for those he loves. Suddenly I was in another place—a fortress, I think, hewn from the side of a mountain. I saw Estel. He was bounding up stone steps, past many bodies, Elf, Orc, and Man. He was running toward Haldir. As I watched, Haldir fell forward. Estel caught him and lowered him to the ground. Then Estel drew his hand back, and it was covered with blood, Haldir's blood, I think. I cried out, and then I found myself back in this room, with Elrohir wiping my brow."

"A vision."

"Yes," Legolas said unhappily, "a vision. Haldir is doomed to die in battle."

"You do not know that."

"I have seen it!"

"Remember this, my son: all visions are equivocal. Surely you have learned at least that from Galadriel!"

Legolas looked at him hopefully.

"So you think Haldir will not die?"

"I did not say that. I simply say that, vision or no vision, you cannot be certain of his fate. Haldir will go into battle, yes—it needed no vision to tell that!—but you must await the event itself to be sure of its outcome."

"I want to be certain now," Legolas insisted.

"We can only ever be sure of the past," Elrond chided him. "Even the Maiar know not the future."

"Do the Valar?"

"I do not know. Such wisdom is beyond my ken."

"So I must live with this uncertainty?"

"Yes," Elrond said simply.

"I cannot!"

"Do not speak nonsense," Elrond said firmly. "You are living at this very moment, yet you do not know what the future shall bring. You have been living so for years, you and all who walk Middle-earth. Clearly ignorance of the future is no obstacle to life."

"_Must_ you be so reasonable?"

"Yes."

This reply admitted of no further discussion. Legolas fell back against his pillows, his face miserable.

"Legolas," said Elrond gently, "if you knew for a certainty that Haldir was going to die, would not that knowledge stand between you and the enjoyment of his company?"

Legolas considered for a while before answering.

"Yes," he replied at last. "I do not see how it could ever be far from my thoughts."

"Then be glad that the Valar have not gifted you—nay! have not cursed you—with foreknowledge. Take pleasure in that with which they _have_ gifted you—a friend who is, as you say, loyal and true. Do not dwell upon a future that may or may not come to pass if doing so causes you to let the present slip away from you."

"Men know that they shall die. How do they endure the knowledge?"

"Even a Man knows not the exact time and manner of his death. Moreover, he knows that to dwell on the certainty of death is a sure path to madness. Most Men therefore live their lives avidly, pushing the thought of death from their minds for the very reason that they know that their stay in Middle-earth is but a passing one. Some of them further comfort themselves by believing that their life in Arda is but a portion of a more lasting existence."

"And is it?"

"That wisdom, too, is beyond my ken. I know, however, that Mithrandir believes it to be so."

"What does he say?" Legolas asked eagerly.

"He says that there is place where Mortals go to dwell after their time in Middle-earth comes to an end. One will smell a sweet fragrance as one approaches it, sailing upon the sea, and a grey rain-curtain will turn to silver glass and roll back, and then one sees white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise."

"And do you believe there to be such a place?"

"As you have said, I am 'reasonable'."

"Well, _I_ am going to believe in such a place," Legolas declared vehemently. "And I am going to believe that an Elf who dies may go there as well. After all, if an Elf dies, then can't he, too, be said to be 'mortal'?"

Elrond smiled at Legolas' passion.

"I see no harm in such a belief. After all, if you are wrong, you will never know it! Now, sleep. Dream, if you will, of white shores."

Legolas did dream that night of white shores. And upon them he saw standing not only Haldir but also Gandalf and Arwen and Aragorn. Oddly, he also saw a Dwarf. But dreams, as you know, are curious constructs that often take bizarre turns, and this fact is doubtless the reason that a Dwarf wandered into an Elf's dream. At least that is what Legolas told himself when he awoke the next morning. Dismissing the peculiar dream from his mind, the young Elf did not recall it to memory for a very long time, and when he did, the circumstances were as odd as the dream had once been.


	72. An Arm And A Leg

**_Junya:_**** So you thought I would miss an opportunity for angst, eh? Writer ominously breathes through the shiny black helmet that totally covers her face: "I find your lack of faith disturbing." _Junya_ gasps for breath, her eyes starting from their sockets. He he he! Angsty enough for you? Anyway, read on. I think you will appreciate the latest turn the story takes. Yes, you are right about the chronology in my profile. It is hopelessly outdated, and I have been meaning to do something about it. Maybe as soon as the semester is over….**

_Zeus:_ Thank you for your kind words. I'm really glad that you like my version of Glorfindel.

**_Emma:_ Oh, you liked the story about the evolving relationship between Aragorn and Legolas? I am glad! If you liked the last twist in "Things Fall Apart," wait until you see what happens in this chapter! Yes, things were "coming back together a bit too nicely." Can't have that now, can we?**

**_Dragonfly:_ Hmm, the verdict is in. Caranlass has been acquitted of the crime of being a Mary Sue. About Haldir: you can consider "The Return of the Elf" to be my final verdict as to whether or not Haldir lives or dies.**

**_The essence of popsicles:_ As I told _Dragonfly_, "The Return of the Elf" is my version of what happens to Haldir, and I won't write anything inconsistent with that story. Ah, so you would convict Caranlass of a misdemeanor rather than a felony charge of being a Mary Sue. You don't like the movie Legolas? You _don't_ like the movie Legolas! OK, I admit that it was obsession with the movie version that got me started writing fanfiction. But everyone is entitled to a vision based upon the words of the book. That's the nice thing about books: they allow the reader an unfettered opportunity to exercise his or her own imagination.**

_MusicalCharlatan_: Get ready to veer toward madness again. I'm ending this chapter with another cliffie, and, since this is the final week of the semester, I'm not making any promises as to when I'll be able to post the next chapter. Mwah hah hah.

_Deana:_ Yes, this story has practically turned into a book. Anyone who is just now stumbling across it really has to plow through a lot of chapters!

_Legosgurl_: Legolas won't be preoccupied with getting away, but not for the reason you think. Look out for the cliff!

_Zergy_: Ah, another vote to acquit Caranlass of the charge of being a Mary Sue. About the little family that is about to come into being: that could provide an additional series! Ai! Writer runs screaming from the room.  
**Beta Reader: Dragonfly**

**Chapter 72: An Arm and a Leg**

Gilglîr and his company of Mirkwood warriors had departed. Elrond had gone so far as to allow Legolas to arise and go outside to farewell his good friend, although he ordered that afterward the young Prince return straightaway to the House of Healing.

"You must be ruled by Elrond in this matter," Gilglîr warned Legolas as the Seneschal mounted his horse.

"I will," Legolas assured him. "Besides," he added with a grimace, "I really don't have any choice. Elrond has placed guards not only at the door to my chamber but outside my window as well!"

"Elrond is wise," laughed Gilglîr as he urged his horse into motion.

"Farewell," called Legolas.

"Stay well," replied Gilglír.

As Legolas walked back to the House of Healing by the side of Edwen Nana, it seemed to the nursemaid that he was in very low spirits.

'But of course he would be sad', she said to herself. 'Gilglîr and the other warriors have ridden off without him, and he will not be allowed to venture forth with Haldir or the twins. Tathar is still here, it is true, but he hovers anxiously over Caranlass. Poor boy! It will be hard on him to lie patiently whilst all his friends are otherwise occupied. It is a mercy that he likes to read. I shall ask Elrond to pick out several of his favorite books to help him while away the time'.

But when Edwen Nana brought Legolas the books, he scarcely looked at them. The nursemaid went anxiously to Elrond.

"Do you suppose Laiqua could be permitted to lie outside in the garden?" she asked the elf-lord. "The sun would do him good, I think."

"Of course," said Elrond. "It is only necessary that he rest, and he may do that as well in the garden as in any other place. Only have a care that he does not use this as an opportunity to escape!"

Edwen Nana assured Elrond that she would be vigilant. But when she hurried back to Legolas to tell him that he might go into the garden, he said he didn't wish to and turned his back upon her. Alarmed, Edwen Nana hastened back to Elrond. She found him deep in conversation with Galadriel over the prospects for strengthening relations with Thranduil's folk.

"Your pardon, Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, but Laiqua does not wish to go into the garden. Something's amiss, I am sure, and I beg that the two of you come and examine him."

"He doesn't want to go into the garden? You're right, Nana. That doesn't sound like Legolas at all."

Elrond and Galadriel arose and accompanied Edwen Nana to the House of Healing. When they entered Legolas' chamber, they found that he still lay with his face to the wall, and when they called to him, he did not answer. Elrond gently laid a hand upon his shoulder to turn him upon his back. The young Elf was quite limp and did not resist, for he was in fact unconscious, his face pale, his breathing shallow, his skin hot to the touch.

"I made quite sure that the wound was not infected!" Edwen Nana cried in dismay.

"As I did as well," Elrond reassured her. "You have done everything properly, Edwen Nana. I suspect that what ails him is Orc poison. For see, the site of the injury itself is not inflamed. No, like as not it is a poison that has spread throughout his body and so begun to work upon him."

"But you can cure him, can you not?" said Edwen Nana hopefully.

"I shall try, Nana. In this house, we keep a great stock of antidotes to various poisons, and we have books that describe the ingredients for compounding additional ones. Galadriel," he said, turning to that Lady, "will you take charge here, administering one by one the antidotes we have on hand? For myself, I will search our medicinal volumes and assemble such herbs and simples as may be necessary if our present ones fail to counteract the poison."

For the next several days, Galadriel and Elrond rarely slept, the one administering potions, the other compounding new ones. As for Edwen Nana, she did not sleep at all, until at last Elrond had a sleeping power baked into the biscuits that she nibbled from time to time to keep up her strength. Ai! as for Legolas, he never woke but seemed to slip deeper and deeper into unconsciousness, never moving, making no sound, not responding to noise or to pins pressed against his skin.

Galadriel turned her thoughts to Gandalf, her mind roving throughout Middle-earth in search of him. She went to Haldir, who, with the twins, had been keeping vigil, desperately wishing that they could be of some help.

"Haldir, I believe that Mithrandir may be found in the land of the Periannath. I have summoned him with my thoughts, but I wish to hasten him on his way. He is afoot. Journey toward him leading a spare horse so that he may arrive here the sooner."

"I will, Lady," Haldir promised fervently.

"Elladan and I will go as well," Elrohir offered.

"Nay, you must husband your energy," replied Galadriel. "You may be needed for another errand."

Haldir went at once to the stable to choose a fast horse for Gandalf to ride on their return. Glorfindel offered him his.

"He does not usually abide any rider other than myself," the balrog-slayer explained, "but he is well acquainted with Mithrandir, and, knowing the errand, he will carry Mithrandir willingly and at speed. But you should take not only this horse and your own, but a third so that you can switch between your mount and the third one. Then you will have less need to pause to rest the horses. Do not ride my horse, however, but leave him for the wizard. Once Mithrandir is astride him, he will bear him to Imladris without let. Some of the blood of the Mearas runs through his veins, I am sure!"

Haldir thanked him quickly but sincerely. Just then, the twins hastened into the stable. They had packed Haldir's saddlebags for him. He was to carry little beyond food and water, however, for he wished to travel light. He grudged any extra burden that might weigh him down and so slow him. Slinging the saddlebags over his mount, he leapt up upon him, briefly nodded to his friends, and thundered from the stable yard, the two spare horses in his wake. He rounded the corner of the building and was lost to sight, the sound of hoof beats yet remaining only a little while until horses and rider had galloped across the bridge and vanished into the woods surrounding Rivendell.

Haldir had never been as good a horseman as Legolas—the Lórien Elves had little occasion to ride—but on this journey his Mirkwood friend would have been in awe of his sudden equestrian expertise. Whenever the Lórien Elf felt his mount begin to tire, he would call up his other mount alongside and leap from one horse to the other, his feet never touching the ground. When darkness fell, they continued on their way, even though the moon was obscured by clouds and gave little light. Since they were traveling on the Great East Road, Haldir had no fear that they would go astray.

Haldir had never been to the Shire, but he had heard both Legolas and Gandalf speak of it and describe the landmarks along the path that led to it. He expected to encounter no obstacles and to be able to find Gandalf with only a little assistance from Men or Halflings.

'I must be nearing the region that Mithrandir calls Bree-land', he said to himself at last, after riding for he did not know how long. 'I must keep an eye out for inhabitants who will provide me the particulars of how I am to cross into the Shire'.

As it happened, some of the inhabitants were keeping an eye on _him_—but they were not any of the more reputable citizens. Times had been growing harder and more perilous, and vagrants had begun to gather in and around Bree-land. Some of these vagrants, moved both by desperation and wickedness, had crossed the boundary into robbery and theft. Vagrants no longer, they could most properly be called brigands, and they preyed in particular upon lone travelers. Now they saw a particularly tempting target, a lone rider with two spare horses—one of the horses a particularly fine specimen, too.

Haldir was cantering now, for the horses could not but be tired, and as he reached the woody spot where the brigands were hidden to either side of the road, the Men swarmed out, blocking him on all sides. They saw he was armed, and, cowards that they were, they had no wish to risk themselves in battle, but they were sure that they had numbers enough to intimidate him into at least yielding the spare horses. One ruffian seized hold of the headstall of the third horse. No one could lay hands on Glorfindel's horse, however, and he snorted and reared, causing the Men to give him a respectful berth.

"Nice horses ye have there," said the chief of the brigands.

"Thank you," said Haldir warily. "And now, as I have an errand requires speed, I must ride on."

"One rider, three horses," continued the leader. "Ye can only ride one at a time, ye know."

"I have need of all three," replied Haldir, his voice and face stony.

"That horse, there," said the leader, pointing at Glorfindel's horse, "has enough spirit for three. You take 'im. We'll take these two what are more manageable, like."

"No," Haldir said simply.

"But I like your horse," sneered the Man. "It and that other one. I believe they would suit me. Yes, I believe they would suit me very well indeed. Come now: let's not fight. What will you take for these two horses?"

"More than you would be willing to pay," retorted Haldir.

"Oh, I am sure I can afford it," the Man replied coolly, "as long as you do not make the mistake of being too greedy in the face of our generosity. Name your price, and be sure it is a reasonable one."

"They will cost you an arm and a leg," said Haldir grimly, a hand loosening his sword in its sheath.

The Man began to laugh, but he checked his laughter when he saw the fierce expression on Haldir's face. He quailed and recoiled a step. But he had his Men at his back, and he soon recovered his arrogance. He drew his sword.

"So much for being generous," the Man snarled. "Now ye'll get nothing but blows in exchange for those worthless horses."

Haldir leaped from his horse. He did not want to be surrounded and pulled down. Instead, he would rely upon his steed to guard his back. Next, to the surprise of the Man, he advanced on the ruffian. Both confused and furious at being resisted, the Man lunged forward and aimed a wild blow at the Elf. With one well-controlled sweep of his sword, Haldir requited him by slicing off his sword arm.

The Man stood gaping as his limb thudded upon the ground.

"An arm and a leg," Haldir repeated. "Do you wish to complete the transaction?"

Behind the Man's back, all his allies had fled. Clutching the stump of his arm, the brigand chief turned and stumbled after them.


	73. There Is Always Hope

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Chapter 72: _Legosgurl__, Dragonfly, Emma,_ and _Deana_.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_**

**Chapter 73: There Is Always Hope**

Once the Men had fled, Haldir again mounted his steed and resumed his search for the Shire. He grudged the delay, as brief as it had been, and urged his horse back into a gallop. So it was that he rounded a corner and nearly rode down Gandalf, who, having received Galadriel's summons, was hastening toward Rivendell.

"Whoa!" shouted the wizard, throwing himself toward the side of the road. As for Haldir, now it was a good thing that Legolas was not there to observe his riding skill, for his horse reared up so abruptly that the Lórien Elf was pitched from it onto the ground. He was unconcerned with his dignity, however, and he immediately arose and, without even bothering to dust himself off, he pulled Gandalf unceremoniously to his feet and pushed him toward Glorfindel's horse.

"Legolas—very sick—hurry!" he babbled.

Impressed by the Elf's urgency, Gandalf asked no questions but vaulted onto the horse with an agility that was surprising in a Man who appeared so agéd. He had hardly settled himself upon the horse when the stallion broke into a full gallop, heading eastward. The wizard's hat flew from his head, but he never looked back. Stooping to retrieve the hat, Haldir mounted his own horse, but he did not bother to hasten. It was plain that he had no hope of keeping up with Gandalf, and so the Elf allowed his horse to settle into a trot, much to the relief of both of the Elf's mounts. Their perseverance over all those miles had been a testimony to the love and loyalty of elven horses for their riders, and they were now to enjoy a well-deserved respite.

As Gandalf galloped toward Rivendell, Elladan and Elrohir took turns going to the door of the House of Healing and keeping an anxious lookout for the wizard. Legolas' condition had changed, but not for the better. His fever had worsened, and he was now thrashing about and calling out constantly for 'Ada'.

"We had best send for Thranduil," said Galadriel.

"I will go," offered Glorfindel. The balrog-slayer proposed to ride accompanied only by spare horses through the nearest pass cutting across the Misty Mountains.

"It is dangerous for one to attempt the crossing on one's own," Elrond objected. "You must take a company of scouts."

"I can move faster on my own," rejoined Glorfindel. "As for danger, I will ride down any Orc foolhardy enough to rise before me in my path."

Gazing upon Glorfindel's set face, Elrond knew that the balrog-slayer spoke the truth, and he granted Glorfindel permission to do as he would. Soon Glorfindel, leading a string of spare horses, was galloping away from Rivendell as hard as Gandalf was galloping toward it.

When Elrond returned to Legolas' chamber, he found Tathar standing anxiously by the door. He was clutching a flute of his own devising.

"Lord Elrond, I am no healer, but I would do something for my friend. May I play for him? He has always enjoyed listening to music, and the flute in particular, for he says it reminds him of birdsong."

"Of course, Tathar. It can do no harm, and may do some good."

Tathar slipped into the room and stationed himself out of the way, in a corner. He played for hours, and Legolas, although he did not open his eyes, ceased his thrashing. At last, when Elrond saw that Tathar's lips were dry and his fingers reddened, he bade him cease. Tathar begged to continue.

"Please, Lord Elrond. I believe the music does sooth him."

"You are doubtless correct, but you must rest yourself. You may resume later. For now, fetch Erestor. Your music is magic, but I believe Erestor may be able to bring to bear magic of another sort. You and he shall take turns in soothing our friend."

Erestor answered Elrond's summons with alacrity, for he had been pacing in the library in desperation, frantically racking his brains as to how he help his former pupil. When he arrived at the House of Healing, Elrond asked him if he would read aloud from the books that had always delighted Legolas when he had been an elfling. Erestor gladly complied, sitting by the young Elf's bed and reading until he was nearly hoarse. Tathar spelled him then, and the two continued thus, taking turns so that day and night Legolas was always surrounded by either song or story.

Looking on, Elrond clung to hope.

"He will neither open his eyes nor speak, but he has not altogether lost touch with our world. Music and story still move him. The Orc poison has not touched the core of his being, I think."

"No, it has not," agreed Galadriel. "And if Tathar and Erestor can keep unbroken the link between his heart and Middle-earth, perhaps Mithrandir will be able to draw him back to consciousness."

Elladan ran up just then.

"Mithrandir is approaching, Ada! Elrohir has spied him."

Elrond hastened to greet the wizard.

"Mithrandir! You have made excellent time. I gather you encountered no obstacles twixt here and the Shire."

"No, I was unmolested by any foe," replied Gandalf as he hurried beside Elrond toward Legolas' chamber. "Haldir, however, was forced to disarm a brigand."

"Indeed. And what account did Haldir give of the incident?"

"He gave me no account at all, but I did not need to hear the tale from his lips. I know of the encounter because I galloped by the evidence: an arm lying in the middle of the road."

"Oh, you meant that Haldir disarmed him indeed!"

"Of course I did," Gandalf replied matter-of-factly. "_I'm_ not the enigmatic one."

Elrond left that latter statement unanswered, for by now they had arrived at Legolas' room, and Gandalf entered and made straight for the young Elf's bed, sparing only a curt nod for Galadriel, who was bathing Legolas' forehead.

"Let us see what we have got here," muttered the wizard. He pushed back Legolas' sleeve and examined his birthmark, the one that looked like the elven word for nine. It had faded almost to nothingness.

"That's not good!" exclaimed the wizard, very much alarmed. He gripped his staff in one hand and with his other tightly held Legolas' hand, which felt very cold to the touch in spite of the prince's fever. Again and again the wizard murmured an incantation, his voice growing softer and fainter as he went on. The wizard's face grew weary. Suddenly he swayed and would have fallen had Elrond not caught him. Still he gripped Legolas' hand, and Galadriel had to force open his fingers to make him let go of the young Elf. "No!" protested Gandalf as Elrond dragged him to a chair. "I have not done. Let me give him more strength!"

"You must save some of your strength for yourself," chided Galadriel. "But, see, you have given him sufficient for the time being!"

It was true. Legolas was breathing more deeply, and the flush of fever was fading from his face. His hand felt warmer, though, and when Galadriel pushed back his sleeve, all could see that the birthmark had regained some of its color.

"I have bought him some time," muttered Gandalf, "but will it be enough?"

A day passed as Legolas' friends kept vigil by his bed. During that time, he grew no better, but neither did he grow worse. At the end of that day, however, his face again flushed with fever, and he once more began to toss and cry out. Gandalf took hold of his hand.

"You must be careful," warned Galadriel. "You will be no help to Legolas if you destroy yourself in attempting to save him."

Gandalf nodded, but he again exerted himself so powerfully that Elrond and Galadriel had to intervene, Elrond seizing him by the shoulders and Galadriel once more prying his fingers free of Legolas' hand. Elrond led the dazed wizard to another chamber in the House of Healing.

"You must rest," Elrond insisted, pushing Gandalf gently but firmly down onto a bed. "You must recover your own strength before you can help Legolas recover his."

Wearily, the wizard fell back upon the bolster.

"There must be something else I can do," he muttered.

"Rest," Elrond repeated sternly, pulling off the wizard's boots.

Gandalf lay with his eyes closed for awhile, but he could not keep his mind from racing.

"I am forgetting something," he brooded. "I know I am! But what?"

He opened his eyes and gazed at his hands.

"My hands are not enough," he said sadly. Suddenly he sat bolt upright.

"Hands! Yes! that's it! Hands. But what about hands? Hands, hands, hands. And healing. Something about hands and healing. I've read something, in a manuscript somewhere. Minas Tirith, I think. The library there. Healing hands. Hands of healing. Hands of a healer. Yes! hands of a healer! The hands of the king are the hands of a healer!"

Gandalf leaped from the bed and, his boots forgotten, ran barefoot out of the room and down the hall. He burst into Legolas' chamber.

"We must send for Aragorn at once!" he announced excitedly.

Aghast, Elrond stared at the wizard. Was there no hope for Legolas, then, that his foster-brother had to be hastily summoned to what was to be a deathbed? Gandalf saw his expression and understood what he was thinking.

"I do not call for Aragorn because there is no hope; on the contrary, it is because there _is_ hope that we should seek him out."

Elrond turned to Elladan and Elrohir.

"How quickly can you depart?"

"On the instant," they replied, in unison and without hesitation.

"Good. You must pick up Aragorn's trail at the ruins of Fornost, for that is where he encountered the Mirkwood Elves. Take many extra horses so that you can ride to that spot with as few breaks as possible. I shall send other riders after you who will position additional horses along the path to Fornost so that with all speed Aragorn shall be able to ride post on his return. When you find him, give him your freshest horse and tell him he need not to spare it."

The twins nodded tersely and hurried from the room. After they had left, Gandalf slumped upon a chair, suddenly weary once more.

"I think," Galadriel said softly to Elrond, "that we will soon have two patients if Mithrandir does not rest."

Elrond nodded. With his back to Gandalf, he mixed some powder into a cup of wine. Then he approached the wizard.

"Here, my old friend: refresh yourself with a sip of this."

Without looking up, the exhausted wizard accepted the cup and drained its contents with one draught. A few minutes later, and he was snoring after the fashion of Men.

"Tathar," Elrond said to that young Elf, who had been standing in a corner, anxiously watching all that had transpired, "I pray you, help me carry Mithrandir to his room."

"But I have heard it said," Tathar replied worriedly, "that it is best to let sleeping wizards lie."

"True," said Elrond, "but only in the sense that one does not wish to wake a sleeping wizard—at least not too abruptly! However, we will take great care not to disturb Mithrandir from his rest. Indeed, the whole point of the exercise is that he should not awake!"

Reassured, Tathar helped Elrond with the task, and they laid the wizard gently upon the bed, removing his robe and carefully covering him with the quilt.

"I'd hide this garment if I thought it would make him stay abed," said Elrond ruefully, "but it won't. If I took his very leggings, he would simply wrap himself in the quilt and march right out the door."

"Edwen Nana could make him stay abed," suggested Tathar.

"Oh, I am sure she could," agreed Elrond dryly, "but then he wouldn't get much rest, would he?"

Tathar wondered if it would be proper to grin, and Elrond answered the question by smiling encouragingly at him.

"Orc venom wreaks havoc in many ways," said the elf-lord, "and not only upon he who has been directly poisoned. Let us not give way to despair. For joy, too, may prove to be an antidote in a case such as this."

A smile o'erspread Tathar's face. Suddenly he felt hopeful.

"As sick as Legolas is, the longer he survives, the likelier he will recover—is that not so?"

"Yes, for gradually his body may be able to purge itself of the Orc poison."

"So we shall continue to hope—and to buy Legolas time."

"Yes, as you and Erestor and Mithrandir have all been doing, each in your own way."

So Tathar and Elrond returned to keep vigil by Legolas' bed. But as the long hours passed and Legolas again grew feverish, it could not be denied that the Elves were forced to remind themselves again and again that there is always hope.


	74. Another Encounter With Mushrooms

_MusicalCharlatan:_ Ah, but at least I have surrounded Legolas with loving friends.

_Dragonfly:_ Well, the twins don't run into trouble, but I'm not done with Glorfindel yet.!

_Inuyashaloverfan_: O.K. Here is another chapter.

_Karri:_ Yes, almost everybody is on the scene now except Thranduil, Gilglîr, and Tawarmaenas. And Glorfindel, of course, since he has gone to fetch Thranduil.

_Legosgurl_: Maybe, just maybe, I'll give Legolas a break.

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_**

**Chapter 74: Another Encounter with Mushrooms**

"I shall have you soon, Gollum," Aragorn murmured, studying the ground at his feet. "From these tracks it appears that you not far ahead at all." Suddenly he lifted his head and listened intently.

"Several horses, and all galloping at great speed. I should say that they were elven horses, but it is not like an Elf to push his horse so hard over broken ground."

Withdrawing into a thicket, Aragorn loosened knife and sword in their sheaths before drawing and nocking an arrow. Intently, he watched a break in the brush as the sound of hoof beats drew nearer and nearer.

The riders were shouting, however, before ever they came in sight.

"We are no enemies, Estel!" cried Elrohir just before breaking into the clearing. "I pray you, save that arrow for a foe—you shall have enough of them!"

Aragorn lowered his bow and stood clear of the cover as the twins galloped into view and abruptly drew their steeds to a halt.

"Elrohir, Elladan, why are you treating your horses so?" he asked disapprovingly.

"We do so by their leave, for the need was great," replied Elladan. "Estel," he continued, gesturing toward the freshest mount, "take that horse and make for Imladris with all speed. You shall find fresh horses awaiting you every few miles."

Aragorn caught hold of the bridle but hesitated.

"Why so urgent?" he asked.

"Legolas is very ill," Elrohir replied. "Mithrandir thinks your presence would be helpful."

Aragorn waited to ask no further questions but leapt astride the horse and galloped away from the clearing as quickly as the twins had galloped toward it.

As Aragorn was galloping toward Rivendell, Gandalf was regaining consciousness in the room to which he had been carried in the House of Healing.

"Elrond must have slipped me something," he moaned, squinting at a world whose boundaries seemed to fluctuate with the wizard's every heartbeat. "Can't believe I fell for that ploy—again! How many centuries has it been since he first deceived me into quaffing a doctored drink? Ai! what is it Men say? 'There is no fool like an old fool'?—and I am a very old fool indeed!"

The woozy wizard cautiously sat up and tried to pull on his boots, then gave up the attempt because they no longer fit his feet—seemingly it escaped his attention that he was trying to force his left boot onto his right foot. He staggered to his bare feet.

"Shall need my staff today even if I do not cast a single spell."

He retrieved that object from where Elrond had left it leaning against the wall and, leaning heavily upon it, hobbled from the room.

"Mae govannen," said Elrond when Gandalf appeared in the door to Legolas' chamber. "You must have been very weary. I have never known you to sleep so long."

Gandalf glared at the elf-lord, who raised his eyebrows innocently.

"Never mind me," the wizard sniffed. "How is Legolas?"

Elrond instantly sobered. He gestured toward the bed.

"As you see, he still sleeps. But his fever has not returned."

"At least we may be grateful for that."

"Yes, and it is to be hoped that Aragorn will be here soon."

"Aragorn? Has he captured Gollum, then?"

Elrond looked at him quizzically.

"My friend, you commanded that he be sent for. Have you forgotten?"

"If I have," growled Gandalf, "whose fault is _that_?"

Elrond had to concede the point. A rustling was heard. The two friends turned toward the door.

"Galadriel," said Elrond, "you have come to take your turn sitting by Legolas?"

"Yes. So Mithrandir has awoken. I see, however, that Edwen Nana has not."

"Edwen Nana asleep!" sputtered Gandalf. "Did you slip something into her drink as well?"

"Oh, no," replied Elrond calmly. "I had a sleeping powder baked into her biscuits. With a female, it is necessary to be subtle."

With that parting shot, the elf-lord went to his rest, leaving Galadriel and Gandalf to keep vigil. Galadriel laid a hand upon the young Elf's forehead.

"His fever has not returned."

"Elrond said it had not," agreed Gandalf. "I think there is hope."

"Yes. Soon Estel will be here," said Galadriel.

"True. Elrond mentioned that as well. I suppose Legolas will be comforted by hearing the voice of his friend," Gandalf returned.

Now it was Galadriel's turn to look oddly at the wizard, but she said nothing. Legolas stirred a little then, and both Galadriel and Gandalf turned anxiously toward him. The young Elf gave no further sign, however.

"Perhaps," mused Gandalf, "I should pass on a little more of my power."

"Mithrandir," warned Galadriel, "you put yourself at risk, and in the end you may do Legolas little good. It is true that he has rallied each time you have laid hands upon him, but your power places a great strain upon his system. As long as he does not worsen, let him sleep on undisturbed, at least until we see what effect Estel has upon him."

Gandalf gave way to her counsel, and the two sat side by side to keep vigil by the sick Elf. They would have been gladdened to know that they would not long await the arrival of Aragorn. Since leaving Elladan and Elrohir, the young Dúnadan had paused only long enough to leap from one horse and mount the next. So urgent was he that his passion had infected the horses. Each horse that he dismounted continued to follow in his wake. Soon he was galloping at the head of herd of horses, a herd that grew all the larger every few miles.

'The Great East Road', he thought with relief as he broke from the brush and rode onto that pathway. 'Now I shall be able to gallop all the faster'.

As Aragorn and his equine companions galloped eastward, the thunder of their hooves could be heard far in advance of the company. The band of brigands vanquished by Haldir was of course not the only one to lurk about the East Road. Now the captain of another such band, hearing the approach of horses, ordered one of his Men up into a tree to spy out the situation.

"How many Men guard those horses?" he called up to the spy.

"Only one," the spy shouted back.

"Only one," chortled the leader. "There is no way one Man can defend a herd. Even if he should escape us, we shall surely seize some of his horses. Into the road, boys!"

The brigands positioned themselves around a bend in the road so that they should take the traveler unawares. When Aragorn galloped around the corner, however, he was not at all daunted by the Men blocking his path. He rode straight at the leader, who sprang aside, else he would have been trampled. But the brigand was not particularly troubled over the escape of Aragorn and his mount. It was the other horses he was after, and he was sure that those steeds, riderless, would shy at breaking through a line of Men. He was, of course, dreadfully mistaken—fatally so, actually. The horses hesitated not one second, for they were as resolute as Aragorn. Too late, the horses were upon the Men, and the most of them were ridden into the dust. As it happened, that stretch of road was to be very safe for several years afterward, for the survivors, those few who managed to scramble away, returned to their folk to tell a harrowing tale of a highway guarded by fierce horses who would attack any Man who trifled with them.

But Aragorn, continuing to gallop east, gave no thought to the fate of the brigands, instead remaining on the lookout for fresh mounts, which continued to be spaced every few miles. When he reached the Last Bridge, he encountered not only a rested horse but also an Elf, Haldir, who proffered a water bladder and a packet of lembas bread.

"Hannon le," Aragorn called to his Lórien friend, but he did not stay either to eat or drink, nor did Haldir expect him to. With Haldir riding at his side, Aragorn sipped water and nibbled upon a wafer whilst urging his fresh mount onward. He was in the home stretch now, and he would stop for nothing.

In Rivendell, Legolas' fever had at last returned in all its fury. Edwen Nana, having awoken from her drugged sleep, bathed his wrists and his forehead, and above Legolas' bed Tathar had rigged a sort of fan that created a strong breeze as one pulled a cord. For several hours he had been standing off to one side, cord in hand, and pulling for all he was worth. Gandalf paced back and forth, Galadriel warily watching him as he cast longing looks toward his staff where it leaned against the wall. As for Elrond and Erestor, they were together in the library, desperately searching the medicinal tomes for anything they might have overlooked. Elrond shut a book with an exclamation of despair.

"Erestor, I do not believe we have overlooked anything recorded in these books on the subject of Orc poison."

"And if the cure be not recorded in these books," said Erestor gloomily, "then I do not know where it is to be found."

"Yet Mithrandir thinks that Aragorn may be able to do something," Elrond said thoughtfully."

"I do not know why!" retorted a skeptical Erestor. "Estel was raised here. He can only have read these very books that we have but now finished pouring through. Moreover, you were the one who trained him in the healing arts, and the pupil cannot know more than the teacher has taught!"

"Erestor, we must not assume that Aragorn ceased to learn once he escaped our tutelage. There are many sources of wisdom in the world, and not all of them elvish."

Erestor still looked doubtful, but the debate was brought to an end by the precipitous arrival of Berenmaethor, who rushed into the chamber without even knocking.

"The sentinels have passed word that Aragorn approaches!" he cried. Suddenly Erestor seemed to forget that he had just voiced doubt as to whether Aragorn could be of any help. "Excellent!" he exclaimed. "Let us hasten to greet him so that we may take him to Legolas straightaway!" With that he bolted from the room. Elrond's eyebrows rocketed to a fairly high elevation, but he hastened after his friend. After all, thought the elf-lord, it was to be hoped that there would be time enough to twit Erestor after Legolas had gone on the mend.

As fast as the two friends hurried, though, they could not get ahead of Aragorn, who had already found his way to Legolas' chamber before Elrond and Erestor had even reached the entrance to the House of Healing. When the two Elves caught up with the Dúnadan, he was minutely questioning Edwen Nana, Gandalf, and Galadriel as to the symptoms and course of Legolas' illness.

"You say that for several days there was no sign that Legolas had been poisoned?"

"That's true," said Edwen Nana. "The wound seemed very clean, and it healed well. Indeed, a few days after his injury Legolas was threatening to ride out with Haldir and the twins!"

"I think," mused Aragorn, "that the very cleanness of the wound was the first sign that Legolas had been poisoned. Infection could not gain a foothold in the face of this venom. The Rangers have told me of a poison that has such an effect, and they have taught me an antidote."

Aragorn unbound his pack and pulled forth a small bundle. When opened, it was seen that within were small, grey bits of something that looked very much like fragments of a dried mushroom. Erestor looked alarmed.

"Estel!" he cried. "Surely you don't propose to administer a mushroom to him!"

"I do," replied Aragorn calmly.

Now Erestor was indignant.

"Have you forgotten," he exclaimed, "how ill you once made yourself by eating a poisonous mushroom? How can you be sure that you won't poison Legolas?"

"Since that time," retorted Aragorn, "you yourself have trained me in the recognition of mushrooms. Do you doubt your own skill as a teacher?"

Erestor did not know what to say.

"Moreover," continued Aragorn, "lately I have been dwelling amongst the Dúnedain. Living as they do in the Wild, they have more occasion even than Elves to rely upon mushrooms both for sustenance and for their curative value. Do not forget that there is wisdom in places other than Imladris! It was under the tutelage of one of the most skilled of the Dúnedain healers that I harvested and prepared this mushroom."

Galadriel arose and walked over to a table where lay a basin. She picked it up.

"No doubt you wish to soak the mushroom in water."

Aragorn smiled at her with gratitude.

"Yes, my Lady. It is plain that Legolas would choke on anything solid, but we may still be able to make use of his swallowing reflex. Drop by drop, we will administer an infusion of mushroom to him."

Galadriel replaced the basin on the table, picked up a pitcher, and poured a little water into the basin. Coming to stand by her side, Aragorn cast several pieces of mushroom into the vessel.

"We should heat the water," Aragorn said. "The virtue within the mushroom will be released all the faster if we do."

Elrond crossed to the brazier and stoked it, and Aragorn carried the basin over and set it upon the fire. He knelt beside it, stirring the water, and little by little the liquid turned cloudy. At last he judged that it was ready, and he removed the basin from the fire to let the concoction cool. While they waited, Tathar went to fetch a slender reed that they might use as a pipette. When Tathar returned, Aragorn sucked a little of the liquid into the reed. Then Edwen Nana gently raised Legolas. His thumb on the top of the reed, Aragorn carefully released one drop of the medicinal liquid into Legolas' mouth. The young Elf, who had never lost the ability to swallow his saliva, naturally swallowed the medicine as a matter of course, and Aragorn promptly administered another drop.

For hours Aragorn continued in this fashion until Elrond insisted that he be allowed to take over.

"You have ridden far, Estel. Rest now. We will send for you if there is any great change, either for better or ill."

Aragorn began to protest.

"Have a care, Estel," warned Galadriel, her eyes laughing. "Gandalf has been desirous of casting a spell upon someone these past several days. Do not give him cause!"

Aragorn smiled and gave way. "Elrond," said Gandalf after Aragorn is departed, "does it not seem to you that Legolas is less flushed than formerly?"

Elrond laid his hand upon Legolas' forehead.

"You may be right, Mithrandir," he said hopefully.

Several hours later, when a weary Elladan and Elrohir stumbled in, it was plain that Legolas' fever had broken. Haldir went to fetch Aragorn, for, as Elrond said, he ought to be present if Legolas were to regain consciousness. Aragorn came hastily. When he saw that there was little of the medicine left, he prepared more, although all began to hope that there would be no need for it.

At length the young Elf's eyelashes fluttered a little, and he seemed to be trying to raise one of his hands to his face.

"Legolas," Elrond said gently, "are you in pain?"

"'Tch," muttered Legolas.

"What?"

"'Tch," repeated Legolas more urgently.

"I do not understand," said Elrond anxiously.

"I-tch," said Legolas distinctly.

"Legolas," said Elrond after he had recovered from a fit of uncharacteristic laughter, "where do you itch?"

"Nose," replied the young Elf.

Elrond obligingly scratched Legolas' nose for him. The young Elf sighed in contentment and dozed off again, but it was a healthy sleep, not a feverish one.

"Now you all shoo," said Edwen Nana, her spirits and therefore her combativeness restored. "No reason to clutter up the sickroom with all you hangers-on. Besides, you're all like to fall ill from lack of sleep, and then who will entertain Legolas when he wakes up?"

"But what about you, Edwen Nana?" asked Galadriel. "Are you not tired?"

"Not a bit," replied Edwen Nana airily. "I have slept long just now. Ate too many biscuits, I think. You know how a full belly can make a body sleepy."

Gandalf winked at Elrond, who was trying to look dignified.

"I have just been sleeping as well," said Aragorn, "and I feel no need for further sleep. Truth be told, I am more hungry than tired."

"Oh, you're hungry, are you?" said Edwen Nana eagerly. "I'll tend to you. What would you like?"

"Feed him a soup of mushrooms," japed Erestor, "as he seems to like them so much."

"Why, Erestor, I am astounded at your wit," retorted Aragorn. "What a _brilliant_ idea."

"I do believe," observed Galadriel, "that now Legolas' health has been restored, some folk amongst us shall now turn their minds toward mischief.. I think I should leave for Lothlórien at once so that I do not become trapped in the crossfire."

"Not before Legolas is fully awake," objected Edwen Nana. "He would be dreadfully disappointed to learn that you had been here and left without his seeing you."

"Of course I would not leave before speaking with Legolas," Galadriel assured the nursemaid. "Or before tasting your mushroom soup, for that matter," she added, smiling.

There was a vote all around for mushroom soup that evening, even Erestor allowing as how he would really like to have some. And on that genial note the parties separated to entertain themselves as they saw fit until the evening meal.


	75. Fruition

**_Farflung:_**** Somewhere on one of the extended DVDs Orlando Bloom comments that Ian McKellen really isn't a morning person, so Gandalf's grumpiness is a case of Art imitating Life. Personally, I hate mushroom soup, but given Aragorn's unfortunate experience with the fungus, there was no way I wasn't going to use a mushroom as the cure for Legolas' illness. Oh, I'm glad you don't think Caranlass is a Mary Sue. To me she is an amazing Elf—like Legolas and Elrond and Glorfindel and Elrohir and Elladan and etcetera—who happens to be female. That's an interesting idea of twins being used to illustrate the nature of choice. I wonder whether Elrohir and Elladan would ever go down diverging paths. Interesting story idea, that. No, of course 'grandnana' Edwen Nana will still look out for Legolas. She has a heart like a cornucopia: she could keep adding on to the list of people she loves without ever diminishing the amount of love she lavishes on any one person.**

_Grumpy: _As I said above to Farflung, I simply couldn't resist making the cure mushrooms!

**_MusicalCharlatan_****: The brigands never get a break, do they—at least not the sort of break they would like! I had fun imagining an incredibly anxious Elrond hovering over Anomen only to be told that the problem was that the young Elf's nose itched!**

**_Inuyashaloverfan_****: O.K., another chapter, as requested.**

_Dragonfly:_ Of course I'm not done with Glorfindel yet! He's an immortal, so there are an infinite number of story possibilities. Elrond is one of the few individuals alive who have ever put something over Edwen Nana.

Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_

**Chapter 75: Fruition**

As Legolas began to recover his health, in Elrond's household the daily routine reasserted itself. Amongst the matters that had been neglected during the crisis was the education of Marta, the refugee from Dunland who had stayed on after her brother Hyge and her foster-sister Malinka had returned to their cottage. She had continued each morning learning cooking, sewing, and other domestic crafts, but her afternoon lessons in the library with Erestor had been in abeyance. One day after lunch, however, Erestor cheerfully left Elrond's table and hastened to the library, thinking that he would find Marta in her accustomed place. But when he entered the library, he found only Thoron.

"Thoron, what are you doing here?" asked Erestor in surprise, for the young Elf had been a notoriously reluctant pupil, exceeded only by Elrohir in that respect.

"Speak softly," Thoron urged the tutor. "I am trying to keep out of the clutches of Elladan and Elrohir."

"What have you done?" Erestor demanded.

"I, well, I adorned their horses."

"Adorned their horses? Whatever do you mean?"

"I braided flowers into their manes and tales."

"Silly of you, but that doesn't sound particularly dreadful, especially considering the other mischief you have gotten yourself into."

"Yes, that is what I thought, but I did not know that Elladan and Elrohir were planning to ride out with some Rangers this morning—amongst them that exceptionally dour one, Halbarad. When the ostlers led Elladan and Elrohir's mounts into the stable yard, Halbarad—Halbarad, mind you!—actually laughed out loud. Now Elladan and Elrohir say that I have humiliated them before the Dúnedain and have sworn to pay me back."

"It will serve you right if they do," said Erestor, who was famously unsympathetic toward young Elves who got themselves into such predicaments.

"Please, Erestor," Thoron pleaded, "let me hide here until Elrond has had an opportunity to calm the twins."

"If I do, you shall have to busy yourself copying manuscripts. I shall not permit you to lollygag about!"

"Gladly," Thoron said eagerly.

Erestor selected the longest and dullest of the tomes that needed copying and set Thoron up at a table with all that was needful: ink bottle, several quills, sand for blotting, and ruler for measuring and pins for pricking the lines. He set up a manuscript for himself at another table, and for awhile the two silently worked upon the tasks before them. After a time, and with seeming casualness, Erestor addressed the younger Elf.

"By the by, Thoron, did anyone else happen by the library whilst you were skulking about?"

"Yes," replied Thoron, "Marta, the Dunlending maiden, came into the chamber. She seemed to be in low spirits, for her face was pensive and she sighed as she gazed out the window."

'Low spirits', thought Erestor, intrigued. 'Could it be that the lass was sorry to find that I was not present?'

Thoron, however, was not done with his tale.

"But after a little while she must have spied something from the window that raised her spirits, for she gave an excited cry and hastened from the room."

Erestor laid down his pen and walked to the window. 'What could she have seen?' he wondered. The usual vista was visible through the casement, albeit with one exception. A wagon stood by one of the outbuildings used to store foodstuffs. It was a conveyance like to those driven by Dunlending teamsters. Nearby grazed two horses, neither of them elven.

"Thoron," Erestor said, "I need to take stock of the provisions that are being laid in for the feast in celebration of Legolas' recovery. Mind you don't blot any of those pages in my absence."

"I am not an elfling," protested Thoron.

"No," retorted Erestor, "you only behave like one!"

With that the tutor hurried from the Hall and made for the wagon. Nothing rested in its bed save a few empty sacks. Cautiously, Erestor crept up to the outbuilding and pushed open the door. No one was about, but the building, which had been empty that morning, was filled with baskets of apples, bushel after bushel. The air was sweet with them. Erestor picked one up and gazed at it thoughtfully. Then, still holding the apple, he went in search of Elrond. He found the elf-lord closeted with Gandalf, with whom he was poring over a map.

"Ah," said Elrond when Erestor appeared in the door. "Here is someone who knows this map better than I, for he it was that drew it up. Erestor, come and advise us about this pass."

Erestor tried to oblige, but his answers were not very sensible.

"Erestor," Elrond said at last, "you seem rather distracted. Is anything the matter?"

Erestor studied the apple that he still clutched in his hand.

"Elrond, the fruit of Dunland is very sweet."

"Some of it is," agreed Elrond. "Certainly the fruit from the orchards of Hyge Farmer rivals fruit grown by our very own kinfolk."

"Yes, of course. Hyge Farmer. Elrond, I noticed a Dunland wagon by one of the outbuildings. Is Master Farmer about?"

"No. But he has sent a servant who has delivered a goodly number of apples."

"A servant?"

"Hyge has but lately extended his holdings through the purchase of much fertile land. He has therefore taken on several laborers to assist him in his endeavors. One of them, Godwin, he deputized to deliver the apples. A goodly, clever lad he seems to be."

"Indeed?"

"Yes. About Marta's age, I believe. I do not think Godwin will be a servant long."

"Why ever not?"

"He is thoughtful and asks questions that show him to be a likely lad. Amongst his other questions, he has inquired after conditions to the north. It seems he has heard tell of the Dunlending family that is homesteading in the Northern Waste. I suspect that he has hopes of following in their footsteps. It would be a sensible path for Godwin to choose. He is an orphan, and it would be very difficult for him to acquire land on his own in Dunland. To the north, however, there is land for the taking for the sturdy and stout of heart."

"It would be hard for a person to establish a homestead in that place without assistance."

"True," said Elrond, smiling a little, "but I doubt he will settle on his own."

"Is that so?" replied Erestor, feeling a little uncomfortable. "Who would venture forth to aid him? Surely he cannot afford to hire a servant himself."

"No, but he has hopes of a helpmate nonetheless."

"A helpmate. As in a wife?"

"Yes, as in a wife. Erestor, may I ask as to why you are suddenly so curious about the doings of Hyge and his household?"

"No particular reason," replied Erestor, who was now exceedingly uncomfortable. "Excuse me, Elrond. I must return to the library. I have something needs doing."

Erestor hastened back to that chamber and ordered Thoron to put aside the book he had been copying.

"I have another volume you had better work on instead," said the tutor, rummaging about the shelves. "Ah, here it is!"

He laid the book before Thoron, who looked at it quizzically.

"A book about the growing of fruit trees?"

"I am glad to know that you can read," said Erestor sarcastically. "Now commence copying!"

Erestor himself began to furiously copy a second book, one about animal husbandry. And when he was done with that one, he began work on a third, a collection of recipes for simples suitable for the dosing of infants and children. Day after day he labored, continuing to frantically copy volumes long after Thoron had made things up with Elladan and Elrohir and abandoned the library for the archery field.

After spending several days visiting with Elrond's Head Gardener, Godwin had set out for home. Marta, who had haunted the garden during this time, began to come again to the library for her lessons.

"Master Erestor, I am sorry that I have not been dutiful these past several days," she said hesitantly when she reappeared for her lessons.

"You needn't apologize, Marta," Erestor replied kindly. "You cannot always be in the library. Indeed, you should not always be in the library! I remember when you first came to this place. You told your brother that you wished to remain because, should you learn to read and write, you would be able to teach your folk, and thus protect them from being cheated, as is so often the fate of the untutored. Marta, I do believe that you have advanced so far that you could now accomplish your desire."

A joyous smile o'erspread Marta's face. With some sadness, Erestor thought she had never been more beautiful.

"Perhaps," Erestor suggested, "you should now take your final steps toward that goal. When I was young and knew for a certainty that I wanted to teach others, my Master set me to assembling a manuscript wherein I gathered together stories that I thought would be most useful and delightful for a beginning learner." He picked up a book from his desk. "Do you remember this?"

"Yes, it is the book from which I first learned my letters."

"Aye, and from it Elrohir and Elladan and Arwen learned their letters as well. This is the book that I devised whilst still under the tutelage of my Master. You shall now create such a book for yourself. Look about you, Marta. Look at all the books you have read. Choose from amongst them the tales and stories that most delighted you, that most fascinated you."

Marta gazed about the library.

"There are so many," she said. Now it was her turn to look sad. "I must make a choice," she murmured.

"Yes," agreed Erestor. "You must make a choice."

Marta devoted the next several weeks to copying her favorite tales at one table while Erestor diligently worked from his own copy texts at another. At length Marta told him that she was very nearly finished, and Erestor came to o'erlook her manuscript.

"You have chosen well," he said as he turned the pages of the book. "There is quite a variety amongst these tales, and they are all of them of the finest quality, each narrative exciting and yet meaningful. I see, though, that at the end you still have several blank pages. Is there no other tale that you would wish to copy?"

"Yes, there is one other. I saved it for the last because it moves me so. It is the account of how the Lords Elrond and Elros were forced to choose between two fates. They each chose differently and so were sundered one from the other."

"That is a powerful tale," Erestor acknowledged. "Would that no one else had to make such a choice."

"I think that many are so constrained."

"You have grown wise, Marta."

Erestor returned to his table and bent over his task while Marta returned to hers.

A few days later two wagons arrived from Dunland. One bore Hyge and his family. The other was driven by Godwin, and the wagon bed was loaded with tools and household goods such as would be needful for a homestead.

Laughing and singing, Elves escorted the guests into the Hall of Fire, which, under the direction of Edwen Nana, was decorated in a more than usually festive manner. There Marta and Godwin plighted troth, and dancing and feasting followed.

The next morning Hyge and his family departed for home, for they could not long leave their farm untended. Godwin, however, spent that day with the Head Gardener, for seedling fruit trees were Elrond's gift to the new couple, and they had to be dug up and the root balls wrapped.

That evening, Erestor bolted down his food in a most unelvenly fashion. "I have something in the library I must finish," Erestor said, excusing himself after he had washed down his food with several hasty gulps of wine. "Pardon me."

The tutor all but ran from the room, his unusual behavior raising more eyebrows than Elrond's.

Later that night, as Elrond was retiring to his room, he passed by the library and noticed that light still came from that chamber. He peeked his head in at the door. Erestor sat asleep in his chair in the library, his head upon a book, the candle guttering in its socket. Elrond carefully eased the manuscript out from under Erestor's head and looked down upon it.

"This lacks but a few lines," he murmured. "I shall finish it for him."

He mended the candle and carefully copied out the last few lines, then sprinkled sand upon the page to blot the ink. When it was dry, he capped the ink bottle, closed the book, and gently draped his own cloak over Erestor's shoulders.

The next morning Elrond's household assembled before the Hall to bid farewell to Marta and Godwin. Erestor was the last to arrive. He was followed by two Elves who between them carried a large chest, apparently quite a heavy one. At Erestor's signal, they stepped forth and laid it upon the ground, and Erestor opened it. Marta gasped and knelt beside the chest, gazing rapturously upon the treasure within. The chest was filled with books.

Erestor spoke gruffly.

"Should you have questions in your new life, you will be miles away from anyone from whom you could seek answers. But these books, they will be your advisors."

Marta's eyes filled with tears.

"Now, now," said Erestor, his voice even gruffer than before. "I am merely trying to be practical. Besides, I like my students to do well in the world—reflects credit upon me, don't you know."

Erestor's Elves helped Godwin shift the goods about the wagon so that there was room for the chest. Afterward, Godwin bowed and Marta curtseyed to the assembled company. The new husband offered his hand to Marta to help her onto the wagon. Suddenly, however, she turned and ran to Erestor.

I have something to say to you," she whispered. The Elf lowered his head that he might hear her the better, and quickly she kissed him on the cheek. "Stay well," she cried aloud as she ran back to Godwin.

"Go well," Erestor called after her. Godwin handed her into the buckboard and then climbed up himself. Flicking the reins, he set the horses in motion, and the new family drove toward the north.

"Impulsive creatures, those humans," grumbled Erestor as the wagon disappeared into the distance. "Too flighty for the likes of me." Elrond laid his hand upon his shoulder but said nothing. Erestor shot him a grateful look.

The first several days in the Northern Waste, Godwin and Marta slept under the wagon while they labored to raise a small cottage. As soon as it was roofed, Marta asked Godwin if he couldn't erect some shelves.

"I know there may be other things that seem more important," she said apologetically, "but to me shelves are needful." Godwin obliged, and soon one wall of the cottage was covered with shelving that, while rough, was serviceable. At once Marta set herself to unpacking the books and arranging them upon the shelves. All save a volume on the growing of fruit trees were written in Erestor's familiar script.

When Marta reached the very bottom of the chest, she found one last slender volume, carefully wrapped within a soft, clean cloth. She opened it and turned the pages one by one. Oddly, the very last lines were written in a handwriting other than Erestor's, but Marta did not notice, for tears blurred her vision by the time she reached that page.

"I will never forget you," she murmured, hugging within her arms that most precious of tales, that of the love between Beren and Lúthien.

Miles away, Erestor sat in his accustomed chair, his hand upon a book. Gently he rubbed its leather surface, worn smooth by years of affectionate use.

"I will never forget you," he murmured. "Never."

And above both cottage and Hall the star of Eärendil shone brightly, its light a beacon for all folk who dare to love—even when their love must remain forever beyond their grasp. Indeed, especially when their love must remain forever beyond their grasp. And perhaps such a love, a hopeless love, is the purest love of all.


	76. The Flute Player

**Thank you to the following for your reviews of Chapter 75: _Farflung__, Inuyushaloverfan, Mearas_, and _Musical Charlatan_. I gather from your reviews that the last chapter went straight to your tear ducts. You may also want to keep handkerchiefs handy for the ending of this current chapter.**

**_Karri_: Thank you for taking a second look at "Fellowship." I really appreciate it.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_. **

**Chapter 76: The Flute Player**

Gilglîr had only to look at Glorfindel to know that the news was very bad. The balrog-slayer's torn garments were black with Orc blood, and Glorfindel's own blood had soaked through the bandage wrapped about one of his hands. Clearly he had cut his way through many foes, and he would only have done so if his errand were urgent.

"Legolas has taken a turn for the worse," Gilglîr said without hesitation.

"Yes, and Elrond believes Thranduil should come at once."

"I will convey that message to him. You will want to wash and rest yourself."

"Yes, but when he sets out, I wish to return with him. I want to be with Legolas if, if—I want to be with Legolas," Glorfindel finished, words failing him.

"Of course, my friend," Gilglîr said gently. He himself wished that he could return to Rivendell, but he knew he would have to remain behind with Tawarmaenas. If neither Thranduil nor Legolas returned, then Gilglîr would have to guide Tawarmaenas through the first decades of his reign before the Seneschal could follow after the departed King and Prince.

Thranduil was not altogether unprepared for the news. When Gilglîr had returned from Rivendell and informed him that Legolas had been injured, the King had questioned him closely.

"A wound to the belly and yet Legolas recovered within days and with no sign of infection?"

"Yes, the Valar be praised."

"We shall see," said Thranduil doubtfully. "Does it not strike you that it is too much to be hoped that an Elf should be run through with an Orc blade and seemingly take so little hurt from it?"

"I must say I was surprised," conceded Gilglîr, "but Legolas was afforded excellent care, first at the hands of Edwen Nana, and then at the hands of Elrond, who is famed throughout Arda as a healer."

"I do not doubt that they treated him with the utmost of skill, yet, Gilglîr, I am troubled. I will not truly be at ease until Legolas is back within the walls of the Great Hall."

"That is to be expected, Thranduil. You are his father and of course are desirous to see with your own eyes that your son is safe."

Thranduil felt that there was more to his fear than that, but he said no more at the time. Now, as Gilglîr knocked upon the door to Thranduil's private chamber, the Seneschal recalled that conversation.

'It is testimony to the depth of his feeling for his son', Gilglîr thought to himself, 'that he sensed that all was not well'.

"Enter," called Thranduil, and Gilglîr opened the door and stepped into the chamber.

"I must leave for Imladris at once," said Thranduil before Gilglîr had uttered a word. "Is that not so?"

Gilglîr nodded. "Yes," he said gravely. "Glorfindel himself has arrived carrying Elrond's summons."

"Gilglîr, I must ask you to remain here, by the side of my nephew."

"I know," said Gilglîr. "I understand. But I beg of you, convey to Legolas either my greetings or my farewell, as the case may be."

"Of course, Gilglîr. He is as much your son as mine, for I well know that during the years that I neglected him you often served as the father I should have been. You have at least as much of a claim on him as I do—as does Elrond, and Glorfindel and Mithrandir, too."

Gilglîr inclined his head slightly. "Thank you," he said softly.

"No, it is I who must thank you, mellon-nîn," Thranduil replied, placing a hand upon Gilglîr's shoulder. "Were it not for you, my son might never have been restored to me. Even if I lose him now, I will always be glad that for a time he was indeed my son. Perhaps that is why, should I ever lose Legolas again, I would endure, aye, and even some day again find that there is still joy in this world."

"Perhaps that is the reason. But I think it is also that your heart has grown larger. Now you care for many, and not just Legolas. Should Legolas die, your life would be not altogether empty. Not only would your heart treasure memories of your son: there would still be those upon whom you would lavish affection."

Thranduil knew this to be true. His 'family' had been much enlarged over the past few years. It now included not only Legolas but also Tawarmaenas and Tathar and Edwen Nana and Gilglîr, and, indeed, through those folk many others as well. All those for whom Legolas and the others cared, Thranduil could not help but care for, too. Tathar was a case in point. Gilglîr had been worried at how Thranduil would react to the news that Caranlass, whom Thranduil had hoped would espouse Legolas, had instead married Legolas' friend. Thranduil surprised Gilglîr by expressing not only approval but delight.

"Tathar! Now that is a worthy Elf. Caranlass has chosen well. And she is already with child—no, children, you say! It will be wonderful to have elflings livening up the Great Hall! For I am sure Tathar and his family will be here much. He is like a brother to Legolas, and even if he chooses to set up an establishment outside the Hall, he and his wife and younglings will always be visiting. Gilglîr, we must set aside larger apartments for the young family. Tathar has a fine room, but he must now have a suite of three. He and Caranlass will need a chamber of their own, of course, and the twins must have a nursery. Then the family must have a third room as a sort of parlor where they may entertain guests. Of course, these rooms must be situated near Edwen Nana's chamber, for you know that she will want to be the children's nursemaid. But do make sure that they will be near me as well. I so want to hear the babble of the young ones!"

"You will hear their wailing as well," Gilglîr warned, smiling.

"Oh, I doubt they'll wail much," laughed Thranduil. "With Nana hovering about, they will never go long hungry, wet, or tired. Indeed, we shall have to put her under orders not to spoil the young ones."

"She didn't spoil Legolas," Gilglîr pointed out.

"True. Very true."

Gilglîr was to be left with a daunting task. Tathar and Caranlass' rooms were to be near both Edwen Nana's and Thranduil's chambers, but Gilglîr also knew that Legolas would want to be near Tathar, but that Legolas would also want to be near Tawarmaenas, and that Thranduil delighted in keeping Tawarmaenas close as well, and of course, Legolas, too. Moreover, whenever Gandalf visited, he would need a chamber quite close to that of Edwen Nana's because—well, just because. And Gilglîr himself needed a chamber that would keep him near at hand to both Thranduil and Legolas.

In the end, Gilglîr hit upon a solution inspired by Gandalf's accounts of the dwellings of the Periannath.

'The Periannath', Gilglîr mused, 'rely greatly upon the circle in the design of their dwellings—so Mithrandir has told me. Perhaps I, too, ought to think in terms of circles. Instead of having rooms opening off a corridor, why not have a number of rooms opening into a common area—like spokes radiating from the center of a wheel? That way everyone's apartment would be close to that of everyone else's. Each room will be shaped rather like a slice of pie, but, as the Halflings have shown, no law requires that every architectural feature be rectilinear. Yes!' the Seneschal resolved, 'that is what I shall do! As soon as Thranduil has departed, I will send for some Naugrim from Erebor to carve out a new wing according to that design'.

Thranduil would have liked to have departed that very evening, but over the last few months there had been a sudden upsurge in the number of spiders lurking in the vicinity of the Great Hall. The King knew that it would be dangerous to venture out at night.

"While I am gone, Gilglîr, I hope you are able to mount a sortie against these spiders."

"I shall do so, Thranduil, but they will return."

"Aye, I think you are right. There is a source of evil in this world that grows ever stronger. Unless the source itself be defeated, these spiders, which are but its servants, will continue to flourish. Ai! But I do not think there is any way to extirpate the ultimate Enemy."

"Mithrandir has some hopes that there may be a way to force back the evil so that it will lie dormant for many a year."

"Oh, Mithrandir—of course _he_ would say so. Confronting evil is his reason for being, I think."

"Yes, that is so, and when the evil has departed these lands, so will he."

"I don't see why. Wouldn't he remain to enjoy the peace he has wrought—should that indeed come to pass? It would hardly seem fair, otherwise."

"Thranduil, Mithrandir is not of Middle-earth—although I believe he very much wishes he were."

"You leave me with divided feelings, my friend. I would very much like to see the evil driven away, but I do not want to lose Mithrandir. It would be a great blow to Legolas, too.'

"But perhaps Mithrandir will not be lost to us forever. We, too, are not altogether of Middle-earth."

Thranduil looked downcast.

"I do not wish to leave Middle-earth," he murmured. "It is true that I have sad memories of this place, but now I find that far more powerful are the happy ones."

"If you depart Middle-earth," Gilglîr reminded him, "perhaps you will in time be vouchsafed a reunion with Laurelässe."

"There can be no gain without loss," Thranduil said sadly. "Is that not true, my friend?"

"It has proved so again and again," agreed Gilglîr.

Thranduil exhaled and then straightened his shoulders.

"Well, if I have learned anything, it is to cherish what I _do_ have—for as long as I have it."

"You are wise," said Gilglîr encouragingly.

Thranduil shook his head deprecatingly.

"Listen to us! Pontificating like a couple of old philosophers!"

"But, Thranduil," smiled Gilglîr, "we _are_ old philosophers."

"Do not remind me!"

Both Elves were smiling now, and, given the circumstances, the friends parted for the evening in tolerably good spirits. The next morning, Glorfindel, Thranduil, and the King's escort set out for Rivendell.

"We may follow my route back," Glorfindel told the King. "I do not believe any Orcs will molest us!"

"No, you made sure of that riding out, did you not, my friend. How is your hand, by the way?"

"Feels like a balrog bite," said Glorfindel indifferently.

"My, my, aren't we speaking off-handedly today."

"I beg your pardon: my hand is still very much attached, in spite of the best efforts of a rather large Orc."

Thranduil groaned in mock distress. Odd, he knew there was a possibility that he was riding to attend at the deathbed of his son. Why, then did he feel so calm, even cheerful? It must be true, what he had said to Gilglîr: even if his son should die, he would endure. In Middle-earth there would still be much to live for.

Glorfindel was right: no Orcs would hinder their journey. For miles on either side of the trail the Orcs had fled in terror of the balrog-slayer. Sooner than Thranduil would have believed possible, they were dismounting before Elrond's Hall, where Elrond, Galadriel, and Gandalf stood awaiting them.

"How fares my son?" Thranduil asked calmly.

"He does well, Thranduil," Elrond replied.

"No! no! you needn't dissemble. I am strong enough to bear up under whatever news there may be."

"Perhaps," suggested Galadriel, "we had better take Thranduil straightaway to his son."

"Yes," said Thranduil firmly. "I am prepared, come what may."

"May I accompany you?" asked Glorfindel anxiously.

"Of course, my friend. I would not part you from Legolas at a time like this."

Glorfindel knew the way and strode off, with Thranduil close behind. Following after, Elrond, Galadriel, and Gandalf exchanged smiles.

As they neared Legolas' chamber, Thranduil and Glorfindel heard the sound of a flute.

"That would be Tathar playing," Glorfindel said to the King. "He has kept vigil by your son's side, trying to soothe him with music."

They reached the chamber and Glorfindel flung open the door and then stepped aside to allow Thranduil to precede him. The King stepped into the room.

"Legolas!" he exclaimed in astonishment.

Legolas paused in his flute playing.

"Were you expecting someone different?" he said impishly.

Thranduil threw dignity to the winds and seized Legolas in a tight hug. He had steeled himself for the worst, but now, finding his son well, he cast aside all restraint and allowed his tears to flow.

Glorfindel stood gaping in the doorway.

"You, you, you, scamp!" blustered the balrog-slayer. "All the time I was hacking my way through Orcs, and here you were, fingering a flute. I shall skin you!"

"I am surprised Legolas has any skin left," said Galadriel dryly. But then she laid a comforting hand upon Glorfindel's shoulder because, for all his bluster, the balrog-slayer was crying, too.


	77. The Gift Of A Name

**Folks, this is the final chapter of "Things Fall Apart," although there is an epilogue, as will be explained at the end.**

**My daughter and I are flying up to New Jersey tomorrow to visit my parents. My daughter has been saving money for months because I promised her we will visit New York City. Hah! She won't be able to buy anything in the stores on 5th Avenue that she is so anxious to visit! But hope springs eternal, as the saying goes. Anyway, I probably won't be posting for a couple of weeks.**

**An update on the nominations for MPA awards.**** I actually have three stories nominated: "Fellowship of the Reins" under the category of Animal-Based, "A Wizard's Wand" under the category of Elfling, and "An Offer of Friendship" under Most Emotional. A heartfelt 'Hannon le' to the folks who nominated me. For information on the MPA awards, you can go to this address: www . elvenlords . net / MPA / MPA2005library . htm . You have to eliminate the spaces from within the address. I put them in to keep the fanfiction program from stripping the address out.**

**_Farflung_****: I too am not sold on the idea of Valinor. Yes, I liked Gilglîr's solution to the housing crisis.**

**_Melannen__ Amarie_: Thank you! I am afraid that this about wraps up this story, but I will begin another one in a couple of weeks.**

**_Dragonfly_: If you think Thranduil showed how much he has grown and matured in the previous chapter, wait until you see what happens in this chapter.**

**_Mearas_: If the last chapter made you happy, this chapter should make you even happier!**

Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_  


**Chapter 77: The Gift of a Name**

"I thought myself reconciled to the loss of my son," Thranduil said to Elrond the next day. "Indeed, I believe I _was_ reconciled. But even though I would have survived his loss, I don't mean to suffer it if it can be avoided. When Legolas returns home with me, be sure I will keep him close!"

"It is no easy matter to keep Legolas from roaming," Elrond warned, "as I have reason to know!"

"I do not doubt you, Elrond; still, I will give him duties in and about the Great Hall. He has grown mature and responsible. If I give him a task that requires him to remain near me, he will comply."

"True, but what if his talents were better employed elsewhere?"

"Oh, you and Mithrandir are of one mind," smiled Thranduil. "Mithrandir thinks Legolas is destined for some great mission, doesn't he? But, Elrond, my son can be just as courageous a general within the borders of Mirkwood as without!"

"But what if it is not his destiny to lead great armies into battle?" asked Elrond thoughtfully. "With his talents, it may be that his way lies on another path."

"Nonsense," Thranduil said dismissively. "He is a Prince! What other path could there be?"

For all Thranduil's eagerness to bring Legolas back to Mirkwood, that was one path the Prince would not be traveling for the time being. Thranduil decided that the original plan, that Legolas would remain in Rivendell at least until Caranlass' children were born, was a good one. Elrond found it much to his liking that the King was not motivated by selfishness. Far from it!

"If I were to take Legolas away now, of the Mirkwood Elves only Edwen Nana would be present at the birth of Caranlass' babes," the King said to Elrond. "It seems hard that at such a time the young couple would not be surrounded by more of their kin—for Tathar is like a brother to Legolas, aye, and like a son to me!"

Messengers were therefore dispatched to inform Gilglîr and Tawarmaenas of the state of affairs. Both were overjoyed to learn that Legolas was healthy and only a little disappointed that they would have to wait several more months before being reunited with him.

"After all," said Tawarmaenas bravely, "we are Elves. We will still have not one day less with Legolas!"

Caranlass' pregnancy progressed satisfactorily, as well it might, given that she was being watched over not only by Edwen Nana but also by Galadriel, Elrond, and Gandalf. It would have been a brave infant who had been balky under the circumstances! And so the term of months came to an end and in due course Caranlass went into labor.

When Caranlass felt the first contractions, Galadriel and Edwen Nana shooed the watchers and well-wishers out of the room so that they might attend the mother-to-be in privacy. All the ellyth, as was customary, betook themselves to a nearby chamber to keep vigil, all save Gandalf, that is. He nervously lit his pipe and was promptly banished to the garden.

"Have pity upon Tathar," Elrond scolded the wizard as he showed him the door. "He looks as green as a leprechaun, and your noxious weed will probably be the final straw that causes him to lose his stomach—and then the rest of us shall lose ours!"

So Gandalf paced in the garden while the others paced within. Their anxiety was needless, however. As she had already demonstrated in so many ways, Caranlass was equal to any eventuality, including the rigorous task of birthing twins. Far more quickly than anyone had expected, Galadriel and Edwen Nana were swabbing and swaddling two infants. The babes emitted the requisite wails when they first emerged into the light, but after they were cleaned and made comfortable, they complacently yawned and fell into a contented sleep, one on either side of the new mother. Edwen Nana remained to see to the comfort of Caranlass, and Galadriel went to inform the awaiting ellyth of the arrival of two new Elves.

"All is well," she told them. "Tathar, you may greet your children now and thank your wife. The rest of you, as is customary, must wait until the morrow to see Caranlass and the babes. You are free, of course," she added with a smile, "to begin celebrating."

The ellyth gladly retreated to Elrond's private chamber, collecting Gandalf along the way, and there they went through several bottles of wine before cheerfully bidding one another good night and departing to their respective rooms.

The next day Thranduil paid a visit to the proud parents and their newborns. "Which is the ellon and which is the elleth?" he asked wonderingly as he gazed down at the two perfect infants.

"This little red-haired fellow," said Tathar, "is the boy. The golden-haired sprite is the girl."

"Golden-haired," said Thranduil wistfully. "Laurelässe had golden-hair."

"Who is Laurelässe?" asked Caranlass.

"She was Legolas' Naneth," Tathar said hastily. He felt uneasy at the turn the conversation was taking. Thranduil, however, seemed to recover swiftly.

"What will you name them?" he asked, smiling.

"We settled upon the name Gil-galad for the lad long ago," replied Caranlass. "We have not chosen a name for the lass. The name you just mentioned now, Laurelässe, it is so beautiful. Perhaps we may—"

"Caranlass," cried Tathar, horrified, "you don't underst—"

"No! no!" interrupted Thranduil. "I would not mind. In truth, I would be made happy by the choice."

"You are certain?" asked Tathar, flabbergasted.

"Quite certain. It is true that Laurelässe is a beautiful name, and this is a beautiful child. It is a fitting name. It would please Legolas, too, I am certain, for it would honor his mother."

"If you are sure," said Tathar.

"I am quite sure," said Thranduil cheerfully. "That is, if the name is agreeable to the two of you."

"Oh, it is," Tathar assured him fervently. "It would honor us if our daughter bore that name!"

Well, then," smiled Thranduil, "it seems a case of honor all around. May I be the first to toast Gil-galad and Laurelässe?"

Proudly, Tathar opened a bottle of Dorwinion wine presented to them by Glorfindel, who had visited earlier that day, and Thranduil called down health, happiness, and good fortune upon the two infants.

It was a wonder and a joy to all when it became known that Thranduil had given his leave and his blessing for the name Laurelässe to be bestowed upon the little maiden.

"This is not the Thranduil who angrily thrust thirteen Dwarves into the dungeons of the Great Hall," said Gandalf, smiling.

"No," agreed Legolas thoughtfully. "Nor is it the Thranduil who refused to grant me my name so many centuries ago. I thought myself nameless—I _was_ nameless—for many years, Mithrandir, and it took some time to accustom myself to the idea that I was Legolas. Indeed, I was not sure that I wanted to _be_ Legolas. But now I am certain. I am glad to be Legolas. But more than that: I am glad to be Legolas Thranduilion, son of Thranduil, King of Northern Mirkwood. He is a father to be proud of, and he loves me."

"And you are a son to be proud of," said Gandalf. "But have a care, Legolas Thranduilion! He is your father, and you love and respect him. And you should obey him—in the main! But father or no, he cannot always order your comings and goings. Your motives for wandering abroad will not be the same as they were when you fled Greenwood in sorrow and despair. But there will come a day when you will again set forth from the realm of your father."

"That day may be long in coming," laughed Legolas, shaking his head. "My father has drawn up a long list of tasks I needs must accomplish—and all of them require that I remain within the borders of Northern Mirkwood. I suppose I should at least congratulate myself that I will not again be sent in search of a bride!"

"No," said Gandalf, suddenly growing serious. "No, I do not think that will be your quest. But, come," he said, smiling again, albeit wistfully. "Let us enjoy these days of hope and new life. Memories of these days may strengthen us during dark times to come."

"Always the wizard," smiled Legolas. "In enigmatic utterance, you are the rival of Galadriel! But I would not have you any other way. You must forever be Mithrandir."

Gandalf eyes suddenly clouded.

"I shall not be," he said softly. "At least, I shall not always be Gandalf the Grey."

But the wizard swiftly shook off his odd mood, and Legolas, with equal swiftness, pushed Gandalf's words from his mind. And he did not think of them again for a long, long time.

**My friends, now the story has cycled around to Chapter 29: Epilogue of "Returning From The Dead." I won't reprint that chapter here, but you may want to reread it, as you should consider it to be Chapter 78, and the final chapter, of this story. Thank you for staying the course. This 'story' turned into a novel! Any requests for the next tale? **


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